


amor pius

by dezuotian, geranosaurus



Series: erastês and erômenos [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:58:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezuotian/pseuds/dezuotian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/geranosaurus/pseuds/geranosaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is an art student who accidentally falls in love with the ridiculous(ly attractive) leader of a political group on campus. Enjolras is said ridiuclous leader, who finds himself absolutely smitten with the infuriating art student. They are basically idiots about everything. Also, Jehan is cute. Basically another modern college AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. to see the face of God

**Author's Note:**

> This is a ridiuclous collobration between Gabe (geranosaurus) and dezuotian. Dezuotian writes the Grantaire chapters, and Gabriel writes the Enjolras chapters, so you know who to blame when it sucks. (Gabriel, as you'll see next chapter.) Most of the plot is Gabe, because he is a giant nerd who is trying to throw in symbolism and book plot points, but probably anything good is not. You should check us out on tumblr! Our usernames there are our usernames here. I didn't even write this chapter, so I'm going to stop talking now. -G  
> (Oh but p.s. the title is a Nisus & Euryalus reference aren't we cool?)
> 
> I have to share up front that I was 100% sweet-talked into this. Not that I don't actually want to do it, because I do, but just for context. I should probably apologize ahead of time for all of the things that are going to be annoying (I cannot tell you how many things in this first chapter alone annoy the living hell out of Gabriel, from character nicknames to sentence structure) but I will not. Except for my lack of knowledge about art. I am not sure why I am being allowed to write an artist. I'm a poet. Also, do not expect Jehan to be coy. Ever. He is not. (This is another thing that Gabriel does not like. He is super into canon and whatnot.) Sorry that I'm not sorry. -D

Grantaire sat in the painting studio, pulling broad sweeps of blue-green acrylic across a canvas. A grey beanie was pulled over his mess of dark hair, his face was a day or two unshaven, and he was on day three of wearing his most heavily paint-splattered jeans. He was plugged in, a rarity this early in the semester, and between the music lilting through his earbuds and the ease with which his strokes were flowing, he did not notice when someone else entered the bright, open room.  
   
The newcomer was Jehan, a red-headed poetry and classical literature major, and Grantaire's best friend. He came to stand behind the art student, looking critically at the form building on the easel. After a moment of consideration, he pulled one of Grantaire's earbuds out.  
  
"What is this supposed to be?" He asked, leaning down over Grantaire's shoulder to get a different perspective.  
   
"It's not done yet."  
  
"Well I can see that. Obviously." Jehan's green eyes narrowed with a strange realization. "Why do you always paint in blue? You know you're not Picasso, right?"  
   
"I'm not trying to be Picasso. I don't even  _like_  Picasso." Grantaire swished his brush in a jar of greying water. "Besides, it's twilight in this scene, so of course it's going to be blue. But there's going to be yellow and green and purple, too."  
   
"Well it wouldn't kill you to use some other colours." This was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that Jehan would make this complaint. It wasn't strange coming from him, though. He owned more pastel- and neon-coloured skinny jeans than any grown man had a right to. Today, in fact, he was sporting a bright pink pair with a navy floral-printed button-down. No matter how much the poet tried to insist that he was not a hipster, Grantaire would never truly believe him.  
   
"You still haven't told me what this is supposed to be, by the way."  
   
"She's a faun. She's just practice, though."  
   
"Oh, Greek! Now I'm interested." Jehan dropped his bag and pulled a stool over to sit next to Grantaire as he continued to paint.  
   
"I thought I had told you about this?" Grantaire swirled his brush across the canvas to map out the proportion of his faun's hindquarters. "My semester project is Greek myth. I have to have ten pieces done by Christmas break."  
   
"That's exciting! What do you have planned?" Jehan was now fully enraptured by the movement of his friend's brush. What he really meant to ask, Grantaire knew, was,  _"What are you going to paint of me?"_  
   
Ever since the two had met, the poet had been a muse to the artist. Grantaire had lost count of how many of his paintings, sketches, and studies Jehan had sat for in the last couple of years. And Jehan loved it. There were occasions that he had actually asked Grantaire if he needed to practice his anatomy, or finish a project last-minute. There were occasions that Grantaire lied, and painted an entire piece just to make Jehan happy. He had told the poet more than once that he was, "too beautiful not to paint."  
   
"You're going to be a faun, too. Or maybe a satyr, I haven't quite decided."  
   
"I know that I should know this, but what's the difference?"  
   
"Fauns are just forest spirits. Satyrs are actually associated with the gods. Fauns are generally more mischievous and beautiful than satyrs, but satyrs have been linked to the arts for millennia."  
   
"I see your dilemma," Jehan laughed.  
   
"You are so vain, Jehan. Wow."  
   
"Oh, come on. You know you like it." Jehan paused for half a second before he remembered something with a start. "Oh! Speaking of me, and vanity, I'm reading poetry at this open mic thing tonight. You should come with me."  
   
"Jehan, I love you, but I fucking hate poetry. No way." Grantaire kept his attention on the brush in his hand, which caressed the growing curves of his faun.  
   
"Oh, come on. What do you have to do that's any better?"  
  
"Paint? Study? Walk to China and back? Drink myself into a coma?"  
   
"Ha ha, you're so funny," Jehan whined, sarcastic. "No, you're gonna go home to Eponine and your children. Really. Get out. Live a little. By the way, have I ever told you how weird your living arrangement is? You're like an incestuous Brady Bunch or something."  
   
Grantaire stopped and put up his hands. "First of all, no. Just... no. Do not ever make that analogy again. God, why do you think this way? Second, they're actually really cool kids. You know this."  
   
"For God's sake, Grantaire, humour me. How often do I read in public?"  
   
"Jehan, you spout verse at anyone who will listen. And sometimes to people who won't. You are insatiable."  
   
"Okay, you have a point. But how often do I read to people who actually like poetry and appreciate me?"  
   
"Almost never."  
   
"Exactly! So come with me. I'm even better with a receptive audience." Jehan smiled proudly.  
  
Grantaire scowled at him, but turned back to his canvas as he spoke. "God, you're too pretty to say no to. Fine."  
   
"This is why we're friends." Jehan smiled and kissed Grantaire's cheek before he stood up to gather his bag. "I'll text you details later."  
   
"You are so weird." Grantaire wiped off his cheek with the back of his hand.  
  
"I love you, too, R." Jehan sang as he skipped out of the studio.  
   
After finishing the basic mapping of his faun, Grantaire found a safe, out-of-the-way spot for her to dry and cleaned up his supplies, deciding to leave her details for another day. He was aching for a shower, and for something to eat, but first came the twenty-minute walk home.  
   
　  
Grantaire knew something was out of place when he got through the front door. "Hey, Eponine," he called through the apartment, finding her on the sofa with her laptop and a textbook. "Where are the kids?"  
   
"It's Thursday. Azelma has piano and Gavroche is at soccer. They'll be home for dinner." The brunette said flatly, not bothering to look up from her work.  
   
"Oh, right. Just so you know, Jehan wants me to go to wit him to some poetry thing tonight. I don't know how long it's going to take so don't wait up."  
  
"Grantaire, when do I ever wait up for you? Usually you're the one waiting up for me."  
   
"Wow, thanks for the concern." Grantaire went to the fridge to rummage for something to dull his hunger.  
   
"No news is good news, right? I figure someday you have to get laid."  
  
"God, Nina, really? It's not my fault that every single hot boy in the entire universe is straight." He punctuated the declaration by slamming the refrigerator.  
   
"No, but that's good news for me." Eponine laughed.  
   
"Shut up! I hate you." Grantaire shouted around a mouthful of the leftover pizza he had found.  
   
Grantaire and Eponine were cousins; their moms were sisters. Growing up, they had spent a lot of time together (they were only a couple of months apart in age) and were very close. Eponine's parents were never exactly the parents of the year, so Grantaire's mother had all but raised her. They didn't really talk about it, but Grantaire knew that was why Eponine was going for a degree in social work. Now that the two of them were old enough to have their own place, they were paying the favour forward to Eponine's younger siblings, Gavroche, who was almost eleven, and Azelma, thirteen. The two spent more time in the cousins' apartment than at home.  
   
Grantaire's bedroom was, as usual, a wreck. His mattress, which was shoved into a corner, was half undressed, his sheets piled up. His floor was a mess of dirty clothes, textbooks, and art references. Canvases were piled up against the walls alongside coffee cans full of brushes and cases of oils and gouache. Some were finished, some begun with good intentions, and some waiting impatiently to be painted. In Grantaire's mind, he was an artist. To Eponine, he was a slob.  
   
He gnawed through the last of the cold crust and wiped his greasy hands onto his jeans, then threw his bag next to his bed and began digging for clean clothes. This was easier said than done, but after several minutes of rifling, he finally found a suitable combination of articles, which did not include the jeans he was already wearing, and went to take a shower.  
   
   
As he rubbed the wet out of his hair with his towel, he fell heavily into his bed and checked his phone. Several texts from Jehan awaited him.  
   
>>Poetry thing is at nine at the student centre.  
>>Btw the meeting for my political group deal is at eight.  
>>You should come with me.  
>>Mostly so I can keep an eye on you and make sure you come to my poetry thing.  
   
<<I hate politics even more than I hate poetry.  
   
>>But you love me more than you hate poetry.  
  
<<But I do not love you more than I hate politics.  
   
>>You don't have to listen. Bring your sketchbook and make me a faun. :)  
   
Grantaire had met Jehan in a Greek literature class, and had never seen someone so excitable. He knew everything about everything the professor tried to teach, and talked with her at length about all the assignments. It didn't take long after that for Grantaire to learn that Jehan was this way about everything. About literature and about music and about film, and after a few marathon conversations, about art. He always had something to say about something, which meant that he never got boring. And he was so smart. And he was so creative. And he was so, so pretty.  
   
The first time that Grantaire had painted him, his green eyes glowing, his flushed cheeks splattered with freckles, his red curls topped with a flower crown, Jehan had cried. He had said that no one had ever understood him more perfectly. He had cried more. It was then that Grantaire had known he was a keeper.  
   
<<Alright, fine. Where should I meet you?  
   
>>It's in the library. I'll meet you out front. Come early or Enjolras will yell.  
   
<<Enjolras?  
   
>>He runs it. I'll introduce you. ;)  
   
Shortly after this message, Eponine's younger siblings came bursting through the front door. Gavroche dropped his soccer stuff just inside the threshold and collapsed on the rug in the living room, while Azelma spread her laminated plastic practice keyboard across the table and played through a song, humming quietly to herself. Grantaire prodded Gavroche with his foot as he came out into the main living space.  
   
"How you feeling, slugger?"  
  
Gavroche groaned, his blond hair and his face slick with sweat, and then explained. "In pain. I didn’t know drills could hurt this much."  
  
"Well, y’know, if you practiced in the off-season it wouldn’t be so bad."  
  
"I don’t have _time_ in the off-season. I have important things to do!"  
  
"Yeah, like play video games and terrorize your sister.”  
  
“And steal money out of mom’s purse,” Eponine added from the kitchen. “For what I can only guess.”  
  
Gavroche didn't respond to this, but rolled over, spread-eagled, and buried his face into the carpet, groaning again.  
   
In the time since Grantaire had resigned himself to a shower, Eponine had thrown something delicious-smelling into the oven and done the dishes. She was now leaning against the counter, watching her little sister play silently. There was a curve to her lips and a look in her pretty brown eyes that said she loved this kid more than anything in the world.  
   
Grantaire sat down across from Azelma and watched her. After a moment, he took up an imaginary violin and began playing along. She gave him an exasperated look with brown eyes that matched her sister's, and scolded her older cousin, "This song doesn't have any violin."  
   
"It doesn't? Aren't you playing Bach's fifth concerto in E minor?" He made up this title.  
   
"No, it's Beethoven! I've been playing Beethoven all summer."  
   
"With as much as you've practiced you should practically  _be_  Beethoven by now!"  
   
She stopped tapping at her fake keyboard. "Beethoven is dead."  
   
"So? You can be anything you wanna be. Even zombie Beethoven."  
   
"Ew. No. What I want to be is way cooler than zombie Beethoven."  
   
"What could possibly be cooler than zombie Beethoven?"  
   
"Anything," Gavroche piped up from the carpet.  
   
Azelma smiled, "Me."  
   
Grantaire laughed. "I raised you right, kid."  
   
Fifteen minutes later, Grantaire peeled Gavroche off the floor and got him into a chair long enough to shovel down two helpings of everything. He threw his plate into the sink and made to fall into the couch this time, but Eponine redirected him. "Uh-uh. Hit the showers, bro. You're disgusting."  
   
Gavroche groaned again, but did a left-face and stomped off toward the bathroom. He didn't like taking orders from Eponine (he didn't like taking orders from anyone at this age) but he knew that being here was better than being with his parents.  
   
While the youngest of the troupe scrubbed himself clean, the other three cleaned up dinner and gathered around the living room to do homework. Grantaire kept a watchful eye on the clock, knowing he had to leave within the hour if he wanted to meet Jehan on time. Unfortunately, this meant he got very little work done as he ended up patrolling his favourite websites instead.  
   
Eventually he did get out the door, stopping first to ruffle Gavroche's wet hair and kiss Azelma's head as he said goodbye. The same grey beanie was pulled over his now slicked-back hair, and his bag was slung over the shoulder of his navy jacket. He still hadn't shaved.  
   
Along the way, he dragged slowly on a Newport, crushing it out on the sidewalk just outside the campus gates. He dug out his wallet as he approached the library and waved it in front of the electronic lock. This late in the day, all the campus buildings were locked to anyone except faculty and students. Some, like the art and science buildings, were locked to anyone that was not majoring in the department. There had been times that Grantaire had ended up in the studio at three in the morning because he couldn't sleep, or because something profound had made its way through his dreams.  
   
The library was one of the biggest buildings on campus, home to several computer labs, studying hideaways, and small lounges and meeting rooms, aside from five stories of books, periodicals, and folios. Grantaire found Jehan sitting cross-legged in an armchair in the lobby, going through his phone.  
   
"Good! You're here!" The redhead leapt up as Grantaire approached. "And early even!"  
   
The pair went past a row of desks, some of which were still occupied by librarians and student staff members, toward the stairs. Jehan led him to the third floor, through several rows of periodicals and journals, and down a small hallway that led to a single door.  
   
"How do you make your way through this place without getting lost?" Grantaire asked, looking down the length of the floor, all lined with shelf after shelf after shelf. He did not spend much time in the library.  
   
"Intuition, mostly." Jehan shrugged, and Grantaire knew he was not kidding. "Now, just for fair warning, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Enjolras will not hesitate to rip you a new one, newbie or not. He's sent freshmen running away in tears before. Kind of sad, really. But I promise he's not as terrible as that makes him sound. He's actually very lovely."  
   
The room was already occupied by about a dozen people when Jehan and Grantaire walked in, none of whom the artist recognized. At the front of the room two brown-haired boys were talking quietly, separated from the tangle of other members that was spread out across several tables through the middle of the space.  
   
Grantaire found a seat at a table by himself while Jehan joined someone else across the aisle, instinctually giving Grantaire enough room to sketch him. He turned his seat to watch Jehan talk animatedly in profile, pulled out his sketchbook, and began to draw. He had just gotten through the soft lines of the poet's nose and chin when he heard the door close quietly and the chatter in the room lull.  
   
Grantaire had enough awareness to put down his pencil as someone walked briskly to the front of the room. The last arrival, who was still several minutes ahead of the eight o'clock hour, dropped a leather messenger bag on the front table and pulled out a stack of papers, handing them off to one of the brunet boys at the front of the room, who began distributing them.  
   
The artist had no idea what the new man was saying. He stood there, in the front of the room, and Grantaire could swear he was glowing. He was wearing perfectly tailored black dress pants, shined black shoes, and a bright red button-down. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his first couple of buttons were undone, away from his throat. His hair was bright blonde and almost to his shoulders, curling at the ends for want of a trim, and his eyes were the brightest blue Grantaire had ever seen. Whatever he was saying, Grantaire did not understand, nor did he care to. This boy -- this man -- this marble god -- was the most perfect specimen of male Grantaire had ever been privileged enough to witness.  
   
He slid his phone out of his pocket and looked away only long enough to send a text to Jehan.  
   
<<Is that Enjolras? Holy fuck.  
   
>>Yep. Now aren't you glad you came? ;)  
   
"Jehan. Phone." The blonde at the front of the room said warningly.  
   
"Sorry, Enj." The poet palmed the device under the table and smiled slyly at Grantaire. Grantaire followed suit, and put his phone back into his pocket.  
   
For the remainder of the meeting, Grantaire watched Enjolras and sketched, his newest interpretation of Jehan quickly forgotten. He melted under the weight of Enjolras's voice, and for the half-second that he met those too-blue eyes, his stomach bottomed out. For forty-five minutes, nothing in the entire world existed except for Enjolras. He wouldn't have even noticed the meeting was over if Enjolras had not stopped speaking.  
  
Conversation in the room picked back up, and Jehan slid into the seat next to Grantaire, peeking across at the page he was working on.  
   
Jehan laughed brightly. "I thought you were going to make me a faun?"  
   
"That was before you told me the leader of this thing was a major fuckin' babe."  
   
"Ooh, someone's got a crush!" Jehan teased, laughing again.  
   
"Jehan I will punch you into next week." Grantaire did not look up from his sketching.  
   
"Grantaire and E--" Jehan began singing, but stopped abruptly as the red-shirted leader came over to their table.  
   
"Hey, Jehan. You don't usually bring guests. Who's your friend?" He gave Grantaire a quick once-over.  
   
"Enjolras, this is Grantaire. He's an art major. First-timer. Grantaire, Enjolras. He runs this thing." He chattered at this statuesque perfection of mankind and Grantaire knew that meant he was comfortable with him, although how he could not understand. Grantaire could hardly think in rational sentences. "I sort of dragged him along with me. We're going to that open mic thing down at the student centre tonight, and it was just easier to bring him to this, too."  
   
Enjolras stuck out his hand. "Good to meet you. We always need new troops on the front lines."  
  
Grantaire forgot how to breathe as he put his hand into Enjolras's, and smiled stupidly instead. "Yeah, I'm sure."

  
Jehan mouthed at him mockingly,  _'K-I-S-S-I-N-G'_  
   
"Did you do this just now?" Enjolras asked, noticing Grantaire's sketchbook. He tilted his head to get a better angle.  
   
"Yeah, it's nothing." Grantaire mumbled, and felt his cheeks burn a little.  
   
It was a sketch of Enjolras, standing proudly bare-chested with a flagpole in his hand, the banner twisted in the wind.  
   
"That's really cool." Enjolras's gaze lingered on the figure for a moment more, then he smiled and looked back to Grantaire and Jehan. "Well I hope to see you back next week. Maybe get a little input, or at least some more art."  
  
"Oh, definitely," Jehan answered for both of them.  
   
"Have a good night, guys." Enjolras gave them a brief nod and continued out of the room.  
   
"You too, Enj." Jehan reciprocated, still smiling at Grantaire. "First comes love, then comes--"  
   
"We are not five years old, stop with the nursery rhymes" Grantaire interrupted, shoving his sketchbook back into his bag.  
   
"--terribly kinky gay sex." Jehan finished viciously.  
   
"Oh my fucking God, Jehan. Can you not?" The colour of Grantaire's face would have matched the colour of Enjolras's shirt.  
   
"So you're coming back next week, right?" Jehan got up and started toward the door.  
   
"Fuck yes I'm coming back."


	2. 1-2, I got a crush on you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras absolutely does not have a crush on the art student who showed up at one of their political meetings. No, shut up Courfeyrac. Enjolras just doesn't do crushes, okay.

In all of his twenty-one years, Enjolras had only ever had two crushes. One, in all its embarrassing glory, had been a childhood crush on his best friend Combeferre, which he had told his friend about immediately upon realizing it. They spent most of third grade holding hands at recess and planning their future wedding - because Enjolras was sure that by the time they were old enough to get married, he would have gotten gay marriage legalized. (He had, in fact, been practicing his speeches and future protests in his backyard for over a year now, and Combeferre always seemed very impressed with what Enjolras was saying, so Enjolras had figured he must be pretty good.) (Twenty-one-year-old Enjolras thought marriage was far too rooted in patriarchal and heteronormative practices to really be a worthy endeavor, but insuring that gay couples got the same rights as heterosexual ones was still a priority.)

In fourth grade, Combeferre kissed a girl at recess, and Enjolras was heartbroken for a few days, but when Combeferre promised they could still hold hands, he just didn’t want to be boyfriends anymore, Enjolras quickly recovered, because all he really wanted was for Combeferre to be his best friend forever and ever. (Which, at twenty-one, he still was, and Enjolras had no doubt that this was not going to change.)

Enjolras’s second crush was in high school, and was on a senior who led the debate team. The guy was absolutely brilliant and a great speaker and Enjolras had spent his entire freshman year pining pathetically. They actually went on a date once - or, well, it might have been a date, Enjolras wasn’t really sure, but they went to a foreign movie festival and he thinks they almost kissed, but he wasn’t sure. Unfortunately, after the guy graduated, Enjolras never heard from him again anyway, so it hardly mattered.

The point was, Enjolras didn’t really get crushes, and when he did they made sense. He only ever developed feelings for people he already admired greatly, who were avidly interested in the same things as him. He didn’t care at all about looks, and he certainly wasn’t the sort of person who would develop a crush on a person he had barely spoken ten words to.

Which was why, no matter what Courfeyrac, his other best friend, said, there was absolutely no way that this was a crush.

It had all started on a Thursday. Every Thursday, Enjolras held a political meeting in the library at his school. He had actually been holding the meetings since halfway through his freshman year, and he was a junior now. It had started when Combeferre, who had remained his best friend and even gone to the same college as him, suggested that they perhaps try to branch out and make friends other than each other, as they had basically spent the last week only leaving for classes and spending the rest of the time discussing politics and philosophy and forgetting to eat, and in Enjolras’s case, even shower. (This was also why they had stopped being roommates after freshman year, because they clearly could not live together and remember that the rest of the world existed.)

Enjolras had been skeptical at first, because Combeferre was his best friend and he didn’t really need anybody else, but then Combeferre reminded him he could use the group as vehicle for social change, and hadn’t he just been complaining about the lack of such a group on campus, and Enjolras started making the flyers immediately.

Their first member had been Courfeyrac, a very charming young man who showed up the first meeting and promptly flirted with Enjolras. Enjolras almost wrote him off completely, but once their discussion got onto politics he quickly changed his mind, for Courfeyrac was very intelligent and very motivated about his politics, and his cheerful nature helped balance out Enjolras and Combeferre’s more serious ones.

Their next member was Joly, a medical student who was, with great contradiction, both very cheerful and a hypochondriac. He brought his boyfriend Bossuet, who was equally cheerful and terribly clumsy, and after that the group soon grew in size.

Courfeyrac brought Bahorel, who avoided his classes as much as possible to wander the city instead, and had a tendency to get into fights; Bahorel soon brought his roommate Jehan, who was a most well-known for his poetry and tendency to burst into tears at very little prodding, but was also absolutely brilliant and very interested in what the group was doing; and Combeferre brought Feuilly, who wasn’t actually a student at the school but worked in the cafeteria part time, and who was a great artist and loved learning, even though he had never had the chance to go to college. There were also a few other stray members that Enjolras didn’t know very well, who showed up for meetings sporadically and hadn’t solidified their way into the group yet.

The group was Enjolras’s pride and joy at the college, and all of the official members were his dearest friends. Their meetings were spent discussing how they could improve their world, but they did more than just discuss it - they had organised many campus events over the years and Enjolras was already trying to plan some big ones for this year.

It was the third Thursday of the year, and therefore the third meeting, when Enjolras met Grantaire.

Although Thursdays were Enjolras’s favourite day of the week, unless there was an event planned another day, they had been slightly diminished by a horrible politics class that he had on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Normally Enjolras loved politics class, as he loved any class where he had the chance to discuss his politics, as he always strived to find opportunities to possibly change somebody’s mind, but unfortunately in this class he wasn’t often allowed to speak his mind. He had been threatened multiple times that he would be kicked out of the class for what he was saying, despite the fact that other members of the class were permitted to say things that were blatantly racist and sexist.

Normally Enjolras’s method of dealing with this class was to go rant to Combeferre for the hour before the meeting, but this Thursday went he went to Combeferre’s room on campus, there was a note taped to the door. “At the library with Courfeyrac, he needed help with a paper. Don’t you dare come over until you’ve eaten. There’s a wrap in the fridge for you.” The door had been left unlocked.

Enjolras debated about just going over to the library anyway, and getting things ready for the meeting, because if Combeferre was helping Courfeyrac with an essay, he would probably he focused enough that Enjolras could sneak past him. Unless Courfeyrac had ended up flirting with people instead of writing his paper, which was a very distinct possibility, and that would mean that Combeferre would probably be on Enjolras watch, because Enjolras had forgotten to eat for almost a week last year and ended up in the hospital.

Enjolras sighed and went into Combeferre’s room. He set his bag down on the desk and got the wrap out of the fridge - which was, admittedly, Enjolras’s favourite: hummus and red pepper. There was actually a note on top of the wrap that said, “Put your meeting notes away,” but since Combeferre wasn’t there to yell at him, he double checked his notes for the meeting while he ate anyway.

Finally, Enjolras finished eating, and it was close enough to the meeting time that Combeferre would know Enjolras had actually listened to him, so he put away his things and made sure to lock Combeferre’s room before heading over to the meeting.

When Enjolras got to the library, he headed straight to the meeting room. Courfeyrac and Combeferre were at the front of the room discussing something, so Enjolras walked right up to them, setting his bag on the table in the front. He got out the papers he had printed out for the meeting and gave them to Combeferre, who started passing them out.

While Combeferre was doing that, Enjolras scanned the room to see who all was at the meeting. Joly and Bossuet were there, sitting together and wearing matching band aids on their hands, which probably meant that Bossuet had hurt himself and Joly had decided he must have gotten hurt somehow too. Feuilly was sitting with Musichetta, a friend of Joly and Bossuet’s who showed up to the meetings whenever she had the night off. Jehan was there, sitting with Bahorel and frantically whispering to him about something. There were also two students Enjolras vaguely remembered from the week before- the one, a blonde girl, he thought might have been called Colette?

And then he noticed the newcomer sitting in the back by himself. He had dark curly hair and was wearing a hoodie that Enjolras could see from here was covered in paint. He had a sketchbook in front of him, and he had obviously been drawing before Enjolras had gotten there, but now he was staring with the brightest blue eyes that Enjolras had ever seen.

Enjolras felt a weird feeling in the bottom of his stomach and quickly looked away. He was surprised by the feeling - even when he had been a teenager, at the height of having ridiculous hormones, he hadn’t really found himself noticing another person’s physical attractiveness very often.

Courfeyrac must have noticed his staring because he came up next to Enjolras and started without any prompting, “He came here with Jehan. I don’t know who he is but he’s been doodling since he came in.”

Enjolras nodded. “You’ve never seen him around campus before? He might be a freshman.”

“No, I’ve seen him - I’m pretty sure at the bar, actually,” Courfeyrac said.

Enjolras frowned. Although he understood drinking was a very common activity for college students, he had never seen the appeal himself. Still, even Combeferre went out drinking from time to time- one could hardly judge on the basis of that.

Combeferre had finished passing out the paper, so Enjolras cleared his mind of the newcomer and stepped up to start the meeting.

He started by discussing the events they had planned for the year and the general beginning of meeting housekeeping stuff. He had nearly finished when he noticed Jehan was texting, and he knew it drove his friends nuts, but there was nothing more distracting to him then people texting when he was trying to talk. “Jehan. Phone,” he said. (Who was Jehan even texting - all of his friends were here?)

“Sorry, Enj,” Jehan said, putting his phone away and turning to smile quickly at the dark haired friend he had brought, who Enjolras saw then put his phone away, too. He wondered what they were texting about, but forced it out of his mind and started discussing the actual meeting topic, which was about how ridiculously corrupt higher education was and what should be done to make it more equal, affordable, and less exploitative.

While he was speaking, he kept finding himself look back at the new guy. After he had put his phone away, he had gone back to drawing, and he only glanced up from time to time. Every time he would look up, Enjolras would find himself a little distracted, because seriously, how were eyes even that blue. He even lost his place in the speech a couple times, and he could tell Combeferre was starting to give him weird looks, which he pointedly ignored.

He eventually forced himself to look away and kept his eyes firmly away from the blue eyes and managed to focus for the rest of the meeting, finishing up his points on education reform.

When the meeting was over, Enjolras started putting his stuff away and was quickly cornered by Combeferre. “What’s wrong with you tonight? Was your class that bad?” he asked.

Enjolras blushed, and he could see Combeferre’s eyebrows shoot up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Enjolras said. He glanced to the side to where the newcomer was, just to see if he had left yet. He hadn’t - Jehan had wandered over to him, and was talking animatedly while the newcomer continued to draw.

“Oh,” he heard Combeferre say. Then, “You should talk to him. Introduce yourself.”

“What?” Enjolras said, turning to stare at him.

“You’re the leader of the group, shouldn’t you introduce yourself to him? Try to get him to come back next week?” Combeferre said, the corners of his mouth twitching up, and Enjolras felt dumb.

“Oh,” Enjolras said. “Yeah. That. I’m just going to…” He walked away as quickly as he could, trying to compose himself.

He walked straight up to Jehan and the newcomer, where it sounded like Jehan had been singing something but immediately stopped when Enjolras came over. Which was weird, but whatever. Enjolras meant to address the newcomer directly, but he (definitely did not panic a little and) decided to talk to Jehan instead, "Hey, Jehan. You don't usually bring guests. Who's your friend?" 

He looked at the newcomer, because it felt weird not to, but then he quickly regretted it because his eyes seemed bluer up close, and his jeans tighter, and he made sure to look away again quickly so it wouldn’t look like he was being creepy.

Jehan grinned at him, making the introductions, "Enjolras, this is Grantaire. He's an art major. First-timer. Grantaire, Enjolras. He runs this thing." He turned back to Enjolras and explained, "I sort of dragged him along with me. We're going to that open mic thing down at the student centre tonight, and it was just easier to bring him to this, too." 

Enjolras was a little disappointed that he hadn’t come just for the sake of the meeting, but he tried not to show it, and instead he held out his hand to Grantaire and said, "Good to meet you. We always need new troops on the front lines." Which he immediately regretted, because he remembered Courfeyrac telling him that was a very weird way to talk about the group.

Grantaire smiled at Enjolras and shook his hand. "Yeah, I'm sure." Enjolras tried to not to focus too much on Grantaire’s hand in his and was glad the handshake was over quickly. (And maybe a little disappointed.)

He stood there for a few seconds, trying to think of what else to say, when he noticed Grantaire’s sketchbook. "Did you do this just now?" Enjolras asked, and then felt dumb because he realised the sketch was of Enjolras.

He titled his head to the side to look at it better. In the sketch, he was shirtless, holding a flagpole with the flag waving in the wind. It was incredible - Enjolras didn’t know much about art but even he could tell that Grantaire must be very skilled. 

"Yeah, it's nothing,” he heard Grantaire say, which surprised him.

"That's really cool,” he said, because it really was. The detail in it was incredible, considering that Grantaire had just drawn it now during the meeting. He forced himself to look away from the drawing and look back at Grantaire. "Well I hope to see you back next week. Maybe get a little input, or at least some more art." He tried not to sound too pleading.

Grantaire just kind of stared back at him, but Jehan said, "Oh, definitely."

"Have a good night, guys," Enjolras said, and gave them a brief nod. He turned back to see what Combeferre was doing to maybe talk to him, but he and Courfeyrac were watching Enjolras and laughing, so instead he headed out of the room.

He wasn’t even out of the library yet before he got a text. He pulled his phone out even as he knew he did not want to read the text.

Courfeyrac:  
OMG that was the most painful thing I have ever seen I didn’t even know you got crushes?

He glared at the phone but he couldn’t even get it away before he got the next one.

Courfeyrac:  
I don’t even understand he’s like a scruffy art kid? I thought you liked guys like Combeferre or something.  
Courfeyrac:  
Actually didn’t you have a crush on Combeferre in elem school now that I think about it? XD  
Courfeyrac:  
No but seriously whats his name is he coming back next week are you going to ask him out????

Enjolras sighed, and hoped texting Courfeyrac back would get him to stop.

Enjolras:  
His name is Grantaire. Jehan said they would be back next week so I am hoping so.

Then he realised what he had said and sent another text.

Enjolras:  
Just because I want more members for the group, obviously.

He put his phone in his pocket and by the time he got to his apartment building he had several more texts, so he put his stuff away and sat down on the couch to read them all.

Courfeyrac:  
OMFG are you serious????? We all know you like him stop.  
Courfeyrac:  
Is it the eyes he did have nice eyes  
Courfeyrac:  
Oooh jehan says “grantaire” is deff coming back next week so you know.

Combeferre:  
I actually think I took a philosophy class with Grantaire freshman year. I remember him being very intelligent and well-spoken.  
Combeferre:  
If perhaps a bit difficult, but certainly less so than you.  
Combeferre:  
Of course, that isn’t really saying much.

He tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach when he saw that Grantaire would definitely be coming back. Or when he read that Grantaire was “very intelligent and well-spoken.” He wanted to hear everything that Grantaire had to say, and he couldn’t wait for the meeting next week - for a very different reason than usual. He realised he was still staring at his phone smiling when he got the next text.

Courfeyrac:  
Also another reason he is hot bc: do he got the booty he do omg if you don’t ask him out im going to.

Enjolras groaned and turned his phone off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry so sorry. I don't know what this is or why I write Enjolras this way. And I'm sorry my chapter took forever, but sadly your Enjolras-writer here is an actual real life college student and therefore he has actual real life college to worry about. Or use as an excuse, whatever. (Definitely an excuse. -D)
> 
> Also I love how dezuotian gives you great actual Les Mis-referencing chapter titles and stuff and then I give you the names to a punk song oops. (It's a Clash song and it's cute go listen to it.)
> 
> Also piningjolras! Is a thing! (Isn't he cute I think he's cute.)
> 
> You should come bother me on tumblr (geranosaurus.tumblr.com) even if it's only to tell me I'm the worst writer ever and I shouldn't write Enjolras because I clearly have no idea how to. (Or maybe not that's kind of rude actually.) I hope this chapter wasn't too awful. You'll get the next R one soon because dezuotian isn't like me and actually already wrote it, so.
> 
> Thanks for reading! -G
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry if you read this before I got to edit Gabriel's atrocious grammar and miscellaneous spelling mistakes. I did not, however, edit his actual writing. I wouldn't even know where to start. :) (Shut up, Gabriel, you know I do this because I love you.) Also I just want you all to know that all of those Courfeyrac texts are quite literally exactly the way Gabriel texts me, from the syntax to the word choice. Now you can share my pain.
> 
> I think it's really cute how parallel these first two chapters are. It's kind of out of necessity, and hopefully it won't happen as much in the future. And I believe there are several references to how much Gabriel hates the way I wrote the first chapter. ("Which he immediately regretted, because he remembered Courfeyrac telling him that was a very weird way to talk about the group," basically translates to, "why would you write that do you have any idea who Enjolras is at all?") Anyway, it's cute that you're scolding me through your characters.
> 
> If you want to complain about things, please leave Gabriel alone (he has enough to worry about with school and even finding time to write this fic) and direct your anger (or undying affection for my characters, whatever) at me. (dezuotian.tumblr.com)
> 
> (Can you tell which one of us has more natural talent for this writing thing now?)
> 
> Stay tuned. Chapter three should be coming your way soon! <3  
> -D


	3. losing favour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire probably becomes a little too obsessed with Enjolras and yet can't stop from being himself and ruining everything.

Monday morning, Grantaire was back in the painting studio. He had finished his faun over the weekend, and she had been hung up in his rotation above his workstation, on the one wall that did not receive direct sunlight. The large room was now housing two dozen of his classmates, and his professor wandered across the floor giving criticism and advice.

He was working now on a new piece, this one in oil. The same figure sketch he had done in Jehan's social justice meeting was being translated into Grantaire's stylized realism. When his professor stopped behind him, he put down his brush but did not wait for the question.

"It's Apollo," he explained, pointing to the copy of the sketch he had pinned to the top of his easel. "It's not going to be exactly like that, but it's a start."

"Why the flag?" His professor asked, his eyes still searching the figure.

"Movement. Interest. It's going to be red. Apollo is the sun god, and flags have always been used to herald arrivals, like the dawn."

"I like it. I like it a lot. And you're using oil, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good choice. I want to see where you go with this." He clapped Grantaire on the shoulder.

"Yes, sir." Grantaire smiled up at him as he continued making his rounds.

  
"He's just so bad at math," Eponine sighed as she fell into the sofa. "And he has these pretty eyes and freckles, R, he's got _freckles_."

"And who is this boy you've got your panties in a twist about?" Grantaire had a fresh canvas leaned up against the coffee able, and was sitting on the floor in front of it. He had every intention to start another one of his semester paintings, but with the way Eponine was talking, the chances of that kept getting slimmer.

"His name is Marius. Marius Po... something. It's not important. He's just so cute. And so dumb. And so goddamned cute. And I get to tutor him, I'm so excited."

"I didn't know they had tutors for the carnal arts," Grantaire teased.

"In math, you asshole." Eponine threw a pillow at her cousin. "But if they did I'd have to get you one."

"What did I ever do to you to deserve this?" Grantaire threw it back.

"You were born."

"I'm older than you!"

"All the more reason that I shouldn't have to all but give you lessons on how to speak to attractive human beings."

"To be fair, you're not the only one who's tried. Jehan must have given me the same speech about a million times. And I have a feeling I'll be hearing it again after the other night."

"The other night? When you went to that open mic thing? Grantaire, did you meet a boy?" Eponine smiled mischievously.

Grantaire's face turned red. "No. Not really."

"You did! Who is it? One of Jehan's weird poetry friends?"

"Oh, come on. If I wanted to sleep with a poet, I'd sleep with Jehan."

"You haven't already done that? I mean with as often as he's over here."

"There is a pretty big difference between sharing a bed with someone and having sex with them, Eponine." Grantaire said crossly.

"You do not just share a bed with that boy, Grantaire. You are full-on snuggling two-thirds of the time."

"So we're affectionate. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I guess. But you're changing the subject. Who is this boy?"

"I'm not changing the subject, you are!"

"Whatever! Name, Grantaire! What is his name?" Eponine insisted.

"Enjolras."

"What!" Eponine threw the pillow back at Grantaire, who in turn buried his face in it. "You mean that guy who's always handing out flyers and taking signatures for petitions? The one that runs that social justice club or whatever?"

"Yes," he muttered through the pillow.

"How did you even meet him? No way he was at that open mic."

"Jehan took me to the social justice meeting. He's a member."

"Did you like, talk to him?"

"Not really. I sort of forgot how words worked. But he did say he wanted me to come back, so."

"He's a politician, of course he said that. But God, you usually run away from anything to do with politics. Why did you even go?"

"Jehan asked. And I can't say no to him. And he didn't tell me that the leader of the damn thing was the hottest boy to ever exist on the face of the earth."

"Wow, he's got you good, hasn't he?"

"I don't even know the guy! But God, he's fucking beautiful, Nina. Like should-be-arrested beautiful."

"I don't know about all that. But from what I've heard him rambling about on campus he seems pretty smart. If a little bit insane."

"Hottest boy to ever exist ever. Did you not hear me say that? And I don't know that he's insane, really. Just... over-enthusiastic."

"Well he's not my type. Too blonde, too wrapped up in politics, too... everything."

"Oh, shut up. What do you even know about your Marius Whoever?"

"He's gorgeous. And adorable. And definitely has no hope of ever being a mathematician. Or a scientist. Or an engineer. Or a doctor. Or an accountant."

"Do you even know what his major is?"

"Oh, God." Eponine cringed. "Business."

Grantaire laughed. "Pressure's on, Ponine. If he doesn't pass, he doesn't graduate."

"Fuck me."

"You'd like him to do that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh my God, R, shut up."

"Oh, Marius!" Grantaire mocked. "Marius, yes!"

"You are disgusting. And I do not sound like that."

  
Later that evening, after abandoning all hope of beginning his painting between Eponine's ravings about this Marius character and the kids arguing over whatever today's topic was, Grantaire bellied up to the bar of one of his favourite local pubs. He ordered a draft beer from his favourite barkeep and settled into a table near the window. Mostly he came here to people watch and have of moment of peace to himself. It's wasn't a college bar, and it wasn't often that he saw any of his classmates this far removed from campus. Tonight, however, some of his classmates found him.

Two boys, one slight and one much more well-muscled, made their way to his table. "Excuse me," the smaller one began, smiling a little nervously. "You're Jehan's friend, aren't you? We saw you at the last social justice meeting."

"Yeah. Grantaire." He extended a hand.

"Joly," the small one introduced himself first, shaking Grantaire's hand. The larger one took it up as soon as Joly had let go. "This is my boyfriend, Bossuet. We just wanted to introduce ourselves. We know Enjolras can be a little less than welcoming to newcomers, for all his passion."

"Sit down, please." Grantaire offered, making a sweeping gesture at the chairs across from him. The pair took them up readily. "What are you drinking? On me." Grantaire waved over a server.

"I'll have a Long Island." Joly smiled at the girl when she had made her way to the table.

"Guinness," Bossuet said plainly.

"Can I get a scotch and soda?" Grantaire requested.

"On the rocks?"

"Of course." He smiled at the server as she took their order back to the bar.

The three made small talk. And drank. And traded stories about Jehan. And did a round of tequila shots. And laughed at stories from past social justice meetings. And shared a bottle of Pinot noir. And a round of Jagerbombs. And stumbled out of the bar at last call red-faced and hysterical with laughter. The next morning, Grantaire did not remember much but that he had liked those guys a lot, and found two new numbers in his phone.

  
Thursday evening, Grantaire found himself back in the library meeting room with Joly and Bossuet, sniggering about some joke that had been made at the bar a few days before. As per usual, Enjolras began the meeting several minutes early, and led discussion for the next forty-five about some project he was putting together. Grantaire sketched, this time a beautiful young man in a three-piece suit standing in front of a legion of Greek soldiers, and tried not to listen.

"I think that's everything," Enjolras announced finally, checking the time on his watch. "And that's our time, even if it's not. If you have any more questions or suggestions, please email me. We still have a few weeks."

Grantaire fixed a few of his lines as the rest of the group made to leave. As he swept the last of his eraser dust off the page, Enjolras pulled a chair from the next table and sat down in front of him.

He was just as gorgeous today as he had been last week, and although more casual than at the last meeting, he still made Grantaire feel terribly underdressed. A navy blazer topped off Enjolras's plain white t-shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of brown suede boots. Grantaire as wearing an old paint-stained band t-shirt that was wearing thin at the edges and Vans he had owned since high school.

"Glad to see you came back," Enjolras smiled, becoming even more perfect by the second. "And you drew something new."

"It's hard not to, in this kind of environment." Grantaire was surprised to find that it was easier to speak to the boy in his sketchbook than the blue-eyed Adonis sitting before him. He continued to scratch small lines across the paper, adding inconsequential detail to his lieutenant and the ranks behind him, rather than think too hard.

The grin had not left Enjolras's face. "It's stimulating, isn't it?"

"That's one word for it," Grantaire agreed, smiling, too.

"So what do you think about this event? You were quiet the whole meeting, but I'd love to get your input." At this point, all of the other members had filtered out of the room, and Enjolras and Grantaire were alone.

"Honestly, it's not really my thing. I think awareness events are kind of obnoxious and generally misinformed." He felt Enjolras move across the table and quickly made to adjust his statement. "Not that you're misinformed about anything. I mean, I don't know anything about it at all, so I can't say that. It just seems to be kind of rude to shove it in people's faces by advertising it everywhere? Obviously, though, if you don't advertise people won't know, but it's just a really thin line you're toeing, in my opinion."

"But this is an extraordinarily worthwhile cause. It deserves to be advertised, and devoted to." Enjolras seemed confused that he needed to explain this.

"I don't really think it's worthwhile to be devoted to any cause. I mean nothing we do here in this life, or any other life, if they exist, is really going to make a difference. People are still going to be assholes no matter what. And they're going to raise their kids to think the same way. Or someone is going to commit a crime against someone else, and that person will be biased against whatever group of people their attacker falls into for the rest of their lives. Like the Holocaust. Like Nine-Eleven. People hurt each other for all kinds of stupid reasons. Race, gender, sexual preference, religion, or lack thereof. It's human nature. We all judge people who are different than us. You can't change it. You just kind of have to live with it, and try to be decent despite it. And it's not that I don't have opinions or anything, I mean obviously I do -- it's impossible not to. I just don't think that discussing them or trying to rationalize them to other people is going to change anything. It's like trying to convince someone to change their favourite colour. You can make an excellent case about why blue is a better colour than orange, but someone, somewhere, is still going to like orange better no matter what you say."

The entire time he spoke, Grantaire tried desperately not to look Enjolras in the face. The longer he went on, he could tell the leader got more and more uncomfortable, but Grantaire could not stop himself. He thought maybe if he kept speaking he would eventually come to a point that Enjolras would agree with. That did not happen. Instead, the smile on his face fell and a set of lines grew between his brows. Grantaire knew he had fucked up. Badly.

After a momentary silence that seemed like an eternity for Grantaire, who chewed on his bottom lip in a half-hearted attempt to quell his nerves, there was a soft knock on the doorjamb, and one of the two boys that constantly attended Enjolras stepped into the room. "Hey, if you're finished, Enjolras, I could use your help with this proposal."

"Yeah, of course, Combeferre." The blonde stood up quickly and gathered his bag, not bothering to bid farewell to the embarrassment he had just allowed himself to be seen with.

Grantaire gave the pair a moment's head start to ensure he would not somehow run into them on his way out of the library. Once outside, he lit up a cigarette and cursed himself the entire way home, making his way down to two more filters by the time he reached the apartment. He did not announce himself as he went inside, but made a beeline for his bedroom and texted Jehan.

<<I am such a fucking idiot. Why did you leave me alone with him?

>>Who? Enjolras? What are you talking about?

<<Just come over.

>>Should I bring Jack?

<<Yes.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Eponine called through the apartment, "R, Jehan's here."

She followed Jehan into Grantaire's room, where he sat down on the bed and twisted the cap off the bottle of Jack Daniel's he had brought with him. Eponine stayed by the door, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Grantaire took a deep swallow before he could even look at his friend.

"I fucked up, Jehan."

"Nothing is irreversible. What happened?" Jehan's tone was gentle.

"I told Enjolras that none of his social justice work was worth anything, that you can't change people and it was all basically a waste of time."

Jehan put the bottle to his lips and hesitated before he downed a mouthful. "Wow, R. I..." He wasn't sure how to word the sentence in a way that would not hurt Grantaire's feelings, so he took another drink and was plain instead. "You fucked up."

Eponine disappeared from the doorway momentarily and came back with a glass, which she handed to Jehan to fill before she sat down on the other side of Grantaire and listened.

"He thought I was cool. Or at least interesting. And now he'll probably never speak to me again." He took the bottle back from Jehan.

"R, I don't know if anyone has ever said something like that to Enjolras before. I don't think anyone would even dare."

"Wow, I am so fucking stupid." Grantaire fell back into his mattress, hiding his face in his hands.

"If it makes you feel any better, Marius is definitely off the table for me." Eponine said softly, nursing on her glass of Jack.

"What? No, Eponine, that sucks." Grantaire said pitifully.

"He's got a girlfriend."

"That's never stopped you before. What makes her so special?"

"I don't know, but he's fucking in love with her. He wouldn't stop talking about her at our last tutoring session. Just went on and on about this Cosette and how wonderful she is and how amazing and how perfect. It made me sick."

"Enjolras is wonderful. And amazing. And perfect." Grantaire muttered, and sat up to take another swallow of the whiskey.

Jehan matched him drink for drink. "R, you barely even know him. I know he comes off as this wonderfully charismatic, passionate man, but trust me. He is capable of being... terrible."

"That's what is so wonderful. He has this drive and this... this passion, like you said. He just glows. It's intoxicating." Grantaire grabbed for his bag and started rummaging through it. "I haven't stopped drawing him in a week, Jehan. Every time I pick up my pencil, it's just his face, over and over again. Look." He thrust his sketchbook into Jehan's chest.

He hesitated for a moment and looked to Grantaire, who made an insisting motion at the book. Jehan took another drink and handed the bottle back to him before he opened it. Grantaire topped off Eponine's glass again.  
  
The last several pages were filled with sketches and studies, bookended by the bare-chested youth Grantaire had drawn at the first meeting and the warband commander he had drawn this evening. In between were portraits in miniature, several sketches per page, all of Enjolras. Grantaire had drawn his face over and over again, in various angles, expressions, and levels of light. It was as though he was trying to capture Enjolras's humanity, something which Jehan was sure could not be done.

And they were beautiful. Probably more beautiful than any of the studies Grantaire had drawn of him. They whispered of something Jehan could never hope to capture in mere words. For the first time, he was not just impressed by Grantaire's talent. He was envious.

He closed the sketchbook and traded it for the bottle Grantaire was still holding. Another drink did not stop him from crying. "They're beautiful, R. Really."

Once Jehan's tears began, it was only ever a matter of time before Grantaire started, too. It happened midway through his sentence. "He's just so beautiful, and so perfect, and we are so different and I am so stupid and why would he ever like me?"

Eponine let out one quiet, shuddered breath and excused herself before she became a tearful mess as well.

"You are very different. But you are no less beautiful or perfect or wonderful than he is. And you are certainly not stupid."

"You have to say that. You're my best friend."

"I do not have to say anything, best friend or not. Grantaire, I'm serious. You are amazing in your own right. Did you probably say the wrong thing to Enjolras today? Yes. Does that mean it cannot be fixed? Absolutely not."

"But you just said that no one has ever said that to him before! He's never even going to want to lay eyes on me again, let alone let me speak to him."

"Enjolras is hard-headed, yes. He takes this very seriously and I imagine that he is very, very mad at you right now. But he is also fair, and honest, and if you give him time he will let you apologize."

Grantaire took several successive swallows and put the bottle on the floor, now three-quarters empty. He did not say anything more, but hung his head and cried. He could not come up with the words to explain himself. Not the way that Jehan could.

He felt Jehan move to put his arms around him. The poet pulled him close and nuzzled his hair, and it was not long before Grantaire fell into him, shuddering with tears. Jehan did not speak, did not shush him or gently implore him to stop. He was quiet, knowing there was nothing he could do but let this moment pass, nothing he could say that would make this easier. He held Grantaire close and fast, stroking his hair as he cried. Grantaire held him in return, his hands twisted into the paisley fabric of his shirt. It took him a moment to realize that Jehan was crying, too, and this thought made it worse. Grantaire adjusted his grip and pulled him as close as their bodies would allow.

For several minutes they sat this way, a mess of limbs and wet eyes and shirts damp from tears. Eventually, Grantaire's tears subsided, and his grip on Jehan loosened. He, in turn, allowed Grantaire room to move again. They still did not speak. When Grantaire picked up his head from Jehan's chest, the poet's soft hands went immediately to work drying the tearstains from his cheeks. He let them linger there momentarily, his thumbs tracing Grantaire's cheekbones as he studied his friend's face, which showed no sign of brightening anytime soon.

"Do you want me to stay?" Jehan asked softly, crying still.

Grantaire nodded and nuzzled one of Jehan's hands, still not trusting his voice.

"Okay. Let me put the Jack in the fridge. I think we should just go to bed."

Grantaire nodded again, and let Jehan get up. He collected the whiskey from the floor, as well as several glasses that had accumulated on Grantaire's desk, and took them to the kitchen. From there, he could hear Eponine crying in her bedroom, but did not have the heart to interrupt, and instead went back to Grantaire, closing the door behind him.

Grantaire's clothes had joined the growing pile of laundry in the corner, and he was in the middle of fixing his bed as Jehan returned to the room. Jehan had managed to stop crying for the moment, and began unbuttoning his shirt as Grantaire finished arranging his sheets. It, and his mint green skinny jeans, were left draped over the back of Grantaire's desk chair, and he crawled into bed behind his friend.

Grantaire turned to face Jehan, his dark hair falling in front of his face. "What would I do without you?"

He smiled, tucking the misplaced curls back behind Grantaire's ear. "I don't know."

"I don't know, either." He wrapped an arm around the poet's fair back and pulled him close again. "I love you, Jehan."

Jehan kissed Grantaire in response to this. He didn't think about it, perhaps because he'd been drinking, or because he had run out of words, or because his emotions were a little raw, or because he had a pretty skewed sense of boundaries on a good day. He did not hesitate, despite not knowing how Grantaire might respond. He let himself think, for a moment, that this had been a long time coming. He decided later that this thought was the Jack. He just didn't know what else to do.

And Grantaire kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dezuotian's chapter so I'll let her add the notes herself when she sees I posted it. :P My chapter should be coming relatively soon- I'm seeing Neil Gaiman speak tonight, and I'm going to be in NYC Friday, but hopefully I can find some time in between. Dezuotian has already sent me chapter 5 so this is totally my fault for any and all delays. Enjoy the chapter! And don't forget to check us out on tumblr! (dezuotian is the same and geranosaurus for me) -G
> 
> It's been entirely too long since I have looked at this and I sort of forgot what happened. Oops. Anyway, I find that I am doing a lot more implicit characterization than I had intended. I promise I will eventually spell out a lot of the underlying dynamics of Grantaire's relationship with Jehan, and Grantaire's relationship with himself. (And Eponine, too, perhaps.) I think perhaps my problem is that I have too many ideas and am not allowing myself enough space to articulate them. Either way, I hope you're enjoying this... whatever it is. ♥ -D


	4. disillusioned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras has weird feelings, and Courfeyrac probably only makes things worse. Also, would everybody please just shut up about Marius?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised for reasons of character's political opinions I should mention this story takes place in the USA, so all political things are American political things. So I'm mentioning this before the fic bc it's prolly important to know! -G

Enjolras followed Combeferre out of the library meeting room in a bit of a daze, trying to listen to what his friend was saying, but failing to actually catch more than a few words at a time. He managed to agree that they would go to Enjolras’s apartment so Combeferre could work on his proposal in peace, but once Combeferre actually started talking about said proposal, his ability to focus completely went away.

They were already halfway to Enjolras’s apartment before Combeferre seemed to notice Enjolras hadn't actually said anything. He lightly grabbed Enjolras's arm to get his attention. "Enjolras, have you even been listening to me?"

"I know you're talking about your proposal," Enjolras said quietly, as if that would actually help.

"Are you okay?" Combeferre asked, furrowing his brow.

"Grantaire thinks social activism is completely pointless," Enjolras explained quietly. "And that basically there was no reason for me to bother with what I have been literally dedicating my life to."

Combeferre visibly cringed, and then he made his face neutral. "That isn't...necessarily...you can always try to convince him."

"He didn't seem willing to be convinced," Enjolras said. Then, a little angrily, "Which is what I don't understand. Why did he even bother coming back to the meetings if he thinks it's all a waste of time?"

Combeferre thought about it. "Jehan must have wanted him to," he said. Then, after a minute, "Or maybe he wanted to talk to you again. You did say he was drawing you, the last time."

Enjolras scoffed. "If he had any interest in me whatsoever he wouldn't have torn apart my beliefs like that."

"I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, Enjolras," Combeferre said. "He probably didn't realise how upsetting his opinion would be to you."

Enjolras didn't say anything until they had reached his apartment. “It’s just...” he started, and then he sighed. “I really liked him, Combeferre.”

Combeferre pulled him into a half hug. “Do you want me to stay here tonight?”

Enjolras leaned into the hug. “Yes, please.”

  
The next morning Enjolras woke up grumpier than usual, which was partly his own fault for having Combeferre stay over. They stayed up past midnight talking about basically anything other than Grantaire, and they had actually both fallen asleep on the couch at some point. Even though Enjolras went over to his bed when he woke up in the middle of the night, he was still sore from the awkward position, and he was very, very tired.

Combeferre finally managed to wake up Enjolras the next morning by agreeing to go with him to the Musain, a coffee shop by the college where they sold the actual best coffee in the world (that was also, most importantly, fair trade!) They had a nice ten minutes at the coffee shop where they sat and drank their coffees in a comfortable silence.

Then Courfeyrac, who also tended to go to the café a lot, arrived. He grinned when he saw them, and after getting his coffee (and flirting with the barista), he hurried over to them.

“So!” Courfeyrac said loudly, pulling a chair up next to Enjolras with a horrible screech as it scraped across the floor. Enjolras gave him the angriest look he could muster and took another sip of his coffee to try and abate his headache. “I know you stayed after the meeting to talk to Grantaire! How did it go? Did you ask him out?”

Combeferre, who was sitting across from Enjolras, was very clearly trying to give Courfeyrac meaningful glances and get him to stop (and, possibly, kicking him under the table from the way Courfeyrac suddenly moved his feet really far back while he was talking), but Courfeyrac of course could not take a hint. Enjolras really genuinely contemplated throwing his coffee at Courfeyrac but he didn’t want to waste the caffeine.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Enjolras settled on, trying not to sound too annoyed. He didn’t really succeed.

Courfeyrac cringed. “Wow, really? That bad?”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“No, okay. You have to tell me, I will literally die if I don’t know, and you don’t want that on your conscience, do you?” Courfeyrac blurted.

“I could probably live with it,” Enjolras said, deadpan.

Courfeyrac pouted. “But Enjolras! This is important! I had such high hopes, okay, you like never have crushes. This was exciting! My little boy was finally going to become a man!”

Sometimes Enjolras really wanted to reconsider his friendship with Courfeyrac. (Although, no, he really didn’t -- he loved all of his friends, all of the time, even when they were driving him nuts.) “It seems that Grantaire and I are fundamentally incompatible, and really it’s for the best that I found this out now rather than later,” he said, and he did a pretty good job of keeping his voice level, all considered.

Courfeyrac gave him a look that was a mix of concern and confusion. “Wait, what? How? Is he a Republican? Because you know Marius voted Republican and he’s still, besides you two, my best friend, so you can probably work it out.”

“Marius voted Republican?” Enjolras demanded, Grantaire momentarily forgotten. “And you still live with him?”

Courfeyrac laughed loudly. “You are literally my favourite person ever, Enjolras.”

“I hate you,” Enjolras said, blushing a little.

Courfeyrac just rolled his eyes. “That I know for a fact is not true. But anyway! Grantaire!”

“It’s almost worse,” Enjolras said with a sigh. “He’s totally apathetic about politics. He doesn’t think there is any point to trying to change the world! Which is ridiculous, I mean, just looking at history it’s clear that change, although certainly not enough and not always permanently, has happened for the better, and that it’s our responsibility to do the same for future generations that the past ones did for us, and he just thinks it’s all a waste of time!”

Courfeyrac gave Combeferre a look that Enjolras couldn’t interpret and then turned back to Enjolras. “Dude, that is definitely better than Republican. At least he isn’t adamantly trying to undermine everything you believe in? Does he at least, like, feel the same way about stuff as you, even if he doesn’t see a reason to fight for it?”

“I don’t know!” Enjolras said, a little frustrated. “Because he didn’t think there was even any point in discussing his opinions!”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “I don’t know, Enjolras. It’s not the end of the world. And, I mean, I know I said he was just a scruffy art kid, but upon further reflection, he is actually really hot, so.”

Enjolras gave him a withering look. “I am hardly going to compromise my beliefs just because he is ‘hot’, Courfeyrac. What we are fighting for is far too important to let myself be distracted by somebody who isn’t even willing to fight for what he believes in or to try and make the world a better place.”

“You are the least fun person I have ever met,” Courfeyrac said with a sigh.

“I am perfectly fine with that,” Enjolras said with a huff.

Courfeyrac gave Enjolras another unreadable look before he turned to Combeferre. “Oh, hey! Did I tell you? Marius came home yesterday and announced that he was In Love. That’s In Love with capital letters, dude, I could hear them when he spoke. It’s that girl he saw at that freshman thing and couldn’t find? Well I guess he finally found out her name last week and they started talking online, and they’re already Facebook official. I checked.”

“Have they even actually spoken to each other in real life?” Combeferre asked, furrowing his brow.

“No!” Courfeyrac said gleefully. “And yet they’re In Love!”

Enjolras groaned. “Nobody cares about Marius’s love life!”

Courfeyrac just grinned and kept talking, and Combeferre, in a terrible backstabbing move Enjolras didn't expect from his best friend, only encouraged him.

  
For the rest of the week, Enjolras tried his best to forget about Grantaire. It was unlikely, he reasoned, that Grantaire would even come to another meeting, as he clearly thought that the entire thing was a waste of time. The best course of action would be to put the whole thing behind him.

It wasn’t as easy as he had expected it to be.

It didn’t even make sense for Enjolras to be feeling like this. He really didn’t even know Grantaire -- he knew that he was an incredibly talented artist, true, and that he had the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen, and that wild, beautiful dark curly hair, and…

And Enjolras needed to get a hold of himself.

It got so bad that on Tuesday, when he was walking to class, he saw somebody with dark hair wearing a green hoodie and he immediately hid in the closest building he could find (which earned him a very strange look from the culinary class that he interrupted.) It was ridiculous. It probably wasn’t even Grantaire, Enjolras realised once he had apologised to the professor and sheepishly started walking towards class again. He vowed to make sure that none of his friends ever found out about it (especially not Courfeyrac.)

Of course, Enjolras should have realised that was wishful thinking, because Courfeyrac knew everybody at school and was practically the king of gossip, so it was only a matter of time until word found his way back to him.

Courfeyrac: Marius said his gf said you ran into her culinary class like a crazy person today?  
Courfeyrac: Are you okay?  
Courfeyrac: Apparently you were muttering about stupid curly hair! This all makes more sense!  
Courfeyrac: Just try talking to him again. About more neutral subjects.

Which was just ridiculous advice. If he couldn't even talk about the things that were most important to him, there wasn't any point in pursuing conversation. Plus, it was doubtful that Grantaire would have any respect for anything Enjolras had to say.

Enjolras was actually spared much more thought about Grantaire once he went into his politics class and spent the rest of the evening in a rage, although he did get two texts from Courfeyrac before he went to bed.

Courfeyrac: "Grantaire" was spotted today in skinny jeans & I think you should officially reconsider your position on seducing him bc damn.  
Courfeyrac: Would you disown me as friend if I asked him out?

At that moment, Enjolras was sure he must have been momentarily possessed, or just really, bizarrely tired, because his hands typed out "Don't you dare!" and sent it without any intention on his part. Courfeyrac, thankfully, only sent a winking face in response.

On Wednesday, Enjolras managed to have lunch with Courfeyrac and Combeferre with absolutely no mention of Grantaire -- if only because arguing over the fact that certain clubs, the ones that made the college look better, didn't seem to have the same deadlines or rules as the clubs that made the college uncomfortable, such as theirs, was too captivating for even Courfeyrac to get distracted from. He got through the rest of the afternoon with no more mention as well, and he thought maybe he was finally free, until he got home and saw the texts from Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac: Ooh Marius said your "Grantaire" was reading a book on the quad today maybe he actually is a nerd like us!  
Courfeyrac: It was the Iliad! Cool!  
Courfeyrac: Seriously you need to reconsider dude!!!

Enjolras refused to acknowledge any of what the texts said, but he did have to ask "Why do you keep putting his name in quotes?" which Courfeyrac ignore to instead start ranting about Marius having an actual in person date with his girlfriend next week, so Enjolras just turned off his phone and focused on his schoolwork, not on Grantaire.

(Mostly.)

  
By Thursday, Enjolras was sick of everything. He was sick of having these stupid feelings, he was sick of Courfeyrac harassing him, he was sick of getting a weird feeling in his stomach every time he thought he saw Grantaire on campus, and he was sick of the little stab of panic he had every time he realised it was Thursday, and the meeting day, and Grantaire was either going to come to the meeting or he wasn't, and Enjolras honestly did not know which one was worse.

He had turned his phone off before lunch and left it off, and without the Courfeyrac harassment, he had almost gotten himself calmed down enough to handle the day, by drinking some weird herbal tea Jehan had left in his apartment (and looking up pictures of kittens on the internet, but he would not admit that to anyone, except maybe Combeferre.)

Unfortunately, he had to go to his politics class, and by the time he was done listening to the bullshit his professor had to say, he was so angry he could barely keep himself from shouting at his professor. By the time he got to Combeferre’s room, he had a terrible headache and his mood hadn’t gotten any better.

When Enjolras walked into the room, he threw his bag down and started going through Combeferre’s desk for painkillers.

“Are you alright, Enjolras?” Combeferre asked, getting up from his bed where he had been sitting and reading.

“I have a headache,” Enjolras said, finally finding the pills. “And the immense desire to punch my professor in the face. Do you have something I can drink with these?”

Combeferre got him a bottle of tea out of the fridge, and Enjolras took four of the pills, willing them to work faster.

Once Enjolras’s headache went away enough that he could once again be a functional human being, they went to the café on campus and Combeferre insisted Enjolras eat dinner while he ranted about his politics class.

Talking to Combeferre usually made Enjolras feel a lot better, but as they headed over to the library for the meeting, Enjolras realised he was still kind of on edge. Admittedly, he kind of knew why -- he hadn’t mentioned any of his recent frustrations about Grantaire, which were still weighing on his mind. He kind of wanted Combeferre’s guidance, but at the same time he was sick of sounding like a love-struck fool, and he knew that Combeferre, no matter how neutral he tried to act, did sort of find the whole thing kind of amusing.

As they were walking, Enjolras decided it really was for the best that Grantaire was unlikely to show up. Enjolras knew he had a tendency to be cruel when he was in a mood like this, and his frustration with Grantaire had only increased throughout the week. If Grantaire did show up, he could probably ignore him, but he still would be pretty snappy with everybody, which was never good.

They got to the library and Enjolras started to get everything set up. He was still a little unfocused, but he forced himself to turn his mind to the meeting. He could do this.

Not too long before the meeting started, Joly, Bossuet, and Jehan came in, and behind them trailed Grantaire. It was stupid, really, but as Enjolras looked at him he could feel himself just snap, and he forced himself to remain civil, but he knew he was going to have to words with the artist, whose very presence, as illogical as it was, almost seemed like another insult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't my greatest chapter I'll admit I don't even know what happened when planning it because there was no plan? This is entirely my own fault I suck. But dezuotian's chapter is next and the one I have after that should be better. I don't know. I also want to point out that every thing said against a character is a) prolly a joke anyway and b) at most Enjolras's opinion. I love all the characters! I'm kind of sad I haven't even actually put Marius in the story yet I've just mentioned him a lot how did I do that. (It's because I'm only writing Enjolras and this Enjolras don't care about no Mariuses.) I've been having a lot of fun writing Courf, at least. :P This is also probably not proofread properly IDK I've been up since like 4:30 this morning I'm giving up I'll try to fix it later. Sorry? Thanks for reading although IDK why? Add me on tumblr bc I like friendship? And leave comments? :) Thanks everybody! -G
> 
> Courfeyrac is fabulous. Wow. And Gabriel seems to be much more adept at this explicit characterization thing than I am. (I am working on this, I promise. I'm actually even writing a little backstory for R and Jehan which Gabriel has not even seen yet as it is very far from done.) Anyway, thank you for reading and bookmarking and leaving us kudos and comments! You're so lovely! ♥ -D


	5. hiding behind the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is not sure why his friends think he's not a total fuck-up. The only thing he can do right is protect his family. And lie.

"Grantaire, you have to come." Jehan begged, tugging on Grantaire's hand which was not occupied by a cigarette. The pair was standing outside the studio doors, waiting on Joly and Bossuet to go get dinner from a nearby cafe.

"I can't. Not after last week."

"Share," Jehan interrupted his pleading for a drag from Grantaire's Marlboro red, which never left the artist's nimble hand. He exhaled the smoke into the breeze. "Whatever happened to you smoking menthol?"

"It depends on the day." Grantaire tapped the ash off the end of it. "But it's getting too cold for menthol."

"I'm serious, you know," Jehan continued with his argument. "If you don't show, you're letting him win."

"Well it'll be just like the rest of my life, then."

"Then make this time different, R. Just come to the meeting tonight." Joly and Bossuet came down the sidewalk hand in hand as Jehan was in the middle of making this last appeal. He used them to his advantage. "There are three of us and one of you and if we have to drag you there, we will."

"What are we helping you do?" Bossuet asked as they finally came within conversation distance.

"R is refusing to come to the meeting."

Grantaire took a long drag to finish his cigarette and let the smoke stream out his nose as he crushed the filter under his heel.

"You came pretty willingly last week. What's up?"

"We'll tell you over dinner. Let's go, I'm starving." Jehan linked arms with Grantaire and the four of them went off toward the restaurant.

  
"So you have a massive crush on Enjolras and actually don't agree with every word he says?" Bossuet asked for clarification. "Congratulations, you are officially less pathetic than every freshman girl that has ever shown up to any of our meetings."

"And he hasn't even sent you home bawling yet." Joly took a sip of his wine and continued. "I remember one time, this girl who was head over heels for Enjolras came in after studying the topic we were discussing all week long."

"Oh my god, is this the Meredith story?" Jehan asked, excited.

"Yes, don't ruin it!" Joly pointed accusatorially at the redhead across the table, who erupted in a fit of laughter, which Joly waited out. "Are you finished?"

"Yes," Jehan giggled, taking a drink to quiet himself.

"Okay, anyway," Joly went on. "So this girl shows up one night with a three-page outline of something vaguely related to whatever we had been discussing, and almost before Enjolras can even start the meeting, she interrupts him and asks if she can speak. Enjolras being Enjolras, of course he lets her. She gets up to the front of the room and spends like ten minutes basically giving this speech about why this whatever-it-was, was totally an awesome idea. And you could tell that she had really worked hard on this, and really done her research, and like practiced what she was going to say. She was totally confident in herself the whole time. It was a great job -- except that every single thing she was saying was absolutely, totally, offensively wrong.

"Meanwhile all of us are like gaping at her and looking to each other to try to figure out what to do. Eventually, Combeferre whispers something to Enjolras and he just motions for all of us to wait. And we're trying so hard not to laugh as they're both just sitting there totally straight faced. Finally, she finishes, and the whole room is silent, and she's got this goofy, proud grin on her face. So Combeferre looks at her and smiles and says, 'Thank you, Meredith. I just have a few questions.'"

Jehan started giggling again, but Joly ignored him this time.

"And Combeferre, sequentially, from the very beginning of her argument, tore apart every single point she made. He talked for like twenty minutes, completely pleasant like he always is even as he totally destroyed her speech, and she was crying, and just bolted. Left her outline and her bag and everything. We found her in the library lobby after the meeting, her eyes all red, and when she saw us she ran up smiling and asked if anyone had made an example out of her. When we told her that we had just gone back to the intended schedule, she started crying again and collapsed on one of the sofas in the lobby. None of us knew what to do, so we just left her there. Haven't seen her since."

"I think Courfeyrac has that outline framed somewhere." Bossuet laughed.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Joly agreed. "I think he recorded the whole thing on his cell phone, actually. And the funny thing is we lied to her because they told us to. Enjolras lectured us for the rest of the time about how dangerous it was to be misinformed. And he told us that if we made her a martyr he would excommunicate us. I think the golden trio just wanted to get her out, and that was the best way to do it."

"I bet Courfeyrac came up with it. 'Hey, Meredith. If you do a speech about how great this is I bet Enjolras will totally see how wonderful and not psycho you are and totally want to fulfill your creepy fantasies.'" Jehan suggested. "R, you don't want to be Meredith, do you?"

"Meredith sounds like a total head case. So not particularly, no."

"Then come. Meredith never came back after she humiliated herself. If you come back you will sort of be breaking the newbie curse."

"I didn't know you had a curse, damn."

"It's not so much a curse as a serial case of ill-advised newcomers," Bossuet explained. "Mostly people show up to one or two meetings, get offended or make total asses of themselves -- and usually in the second case they get a thorough reaming by Combeferre first -- and never come back. Those that do usually end up sticking around."

"Well he didn't really have time to react to me. I mean for all I know showing up means getting a public execution."

"Or it means getting back some respect, showing him you want to support us even though you were kind of an ass about your political philosophies." Joly gave a reassuring smile.

"Besides," Jehan gave Grantaire that grin that he could not resist, the one that meant that he was about to make an irrefutable point. "What else do you have to do?"

And so Grantaire found himself, once again, inside the library meeting room, bolstered by a second, private bottle of wine. While his three companions found seats together, he found a table to himself.

When Enjolras opened the meeting, his first point of business was to address Grantaire.

"I see that our resident cynic has returned," he said, his face deliberately and forcibly neutral. "Grantaire, why don't you share with the rest of our members what you told me last week?"

Grantaire's stomach dropped. Not from being called to explain himself, but because this was the first time Enjolras had said his name. The perfectly polite tone in which he said it did not help the fluttering in his chest, as he could see Enjolras seething underneath his easy gaze. His shoulders were tight, his neck stiff, his hands, for the first time Grantaire had ever noticed, buried in his pockets. The entire room turned to look at Grantaire, and he felt the heat rising in his throat. He would have much preferred to have this small moment of death to himself.

Under the pressure of over a dozen sets of eyes, Grantaire smiled, but did not meet a single pair of them. "I told you that your sociopolitical agenda didn't matter, that change is not as simple as a rally or a pamphlet, and that regardless of what you do, people are still going to be offended, and people are still going to be treated badly, and people are still going to die." He started digging in his bag for his sketchbook, the urge to draw suddenly overwhelming. Enjolras was an entirely different kind of beautiful when he was angry.

"Could you please explain to me, then, why you have come back to something that is so obviously such a waste of your time?" Enjolras crossed his arms over his chest.

Grantaire flipped his book open to the next blank page and gave Enjolras a deadly smile. "Because as long as I am wasting my time, I may as well be wasting it basking in your opulent beauty, my liege."

Enjolras huffed audibly and let his hands fall to his hips. The corners of his lips twitched down momentarily before he reset his face and went on with his scheduled topics. Grantaire hid his grin behind his hand as he began to sketch Enjolras in this new pose.

For the first time since Grantaire had begun attending, Enjolras rushed out of the room when the meeting concluded. He was still too drunk to realize just how angry Enjolras was about his derision.

  
Grantaire thought, as he stood in the grimy kitchen of his aunt and uncle's apartment beside Eponine the next evening, that it was quite possible he hated Mr. and Mrs. Thenardier even more than their own children did. Gavroche stood straight and indignant in front of his screaming parents, the only measure of emotion on his young face a small scowl. The police had left almost an hour ago.

"Do you understand how much work we have to do to earn five hundred dollars?" His mother shouted, throwing her arms in the air. "And you think you're so bad off, that you're so unfortunate and misunderstood that you have to go destroy someone else's property about it? This is not how I raised you, you attention-seeking brat."

"No," was the first word Gavroche had said since the cops had left him, and a fine for vandalism, with his parents. "Because you didn't raise me."

"Excuse me?" Mr. Thenardier said quietly, his brows drawing together. He put his hands on his knees and bent to look his son in the eye.

"Eponine and Grantaire raised me more than you have, and you know it. Don't flatter yourself." Gavroche did not waver.

"I will give you one chance to retract that statement, boy. One."

Gavroche said nothing.

Seeing his uncle's jaw set, Grantaire quickly put himself in front of his young cousin. "Gavroche, go with Eponine."

"No, R. I'm not done." He tried to push past Grantaire, but the older boy held him back.

"Yes, you are. Go home." He turned around to meet Gavroche's eyes and let him know he was serious. "I am not doing this in front of you."

"I'm not a kid anymore, R." Gavroche shrunk a little.

"I know, G. Go home. We'll talk later."

Resigned to Grantaire's gentle tone, Gavroche got his bag from beside the front door and left. Eponine gave Grantaire a worried look before she trailed out after her brother.

"If you fight the boy's battles for him, he's never gonna learn." Mrs. Thenardier scolded Grantaire. "He's soft enough as it is."

"No, actually, he's not. He's ten. He's a kid. And the most resolute one I have ever met. It is absolutely disgusting how little you know about your own children."

"I know enough about that kid to know that he's never going to amount to anything, that he's a whining little brat just like his sisters."

"Gavroche has never once whined about anything. And neither have Eponine or Azelma. They are all hard-working people who do what they have to. This incident, this fine, is absolutely your fault for being such shitty parents."

"You think you're so much better than me, kid?" Mr. Thenardier puffed himself up again.

Grantaire was furious, and any amount of shame he had vanished in favor of the truth. "Actually, yes. I give him a place to sleep, I feed him, I ask about his life because I actually give a shit, and I don't treat him like a dog or beat him when he screws up. He's got to screw up to grow up. And he's got to grow up to get the fuck out of here. I cannot believe that you actually have the audacity to call yourselves decent parents. I cannot believe that you have the audacity to call yourselves parents at all. At best you're social lepers, but at worst, and in my opinion, you are outright trash."

Mr. Thenardier did not bother with his feeble attempts at words this time, and instead threw a punch that hit Grantaire in the eye. The pain was not a new feeling - Grantaire had been in enough bar fights in his time to recognize the immediate pressure that built around his orbital bone, and to be unsurprised by the small trail of blood that started from a gash in his eyebrow.

Instead of validating his uncle by giving any sign of pain, he laughed. "You are pathetic. Both of you." He pointed at his aunt, the blood trickling into his eye. "You hide behind your words, and you," this time to his uncle, "behind your fists. I have never seen anything so sad as the pair of you."

"Get out of my house!" Mrs. Thenardier screamed. "And don't you ever even think about coming back here, you rotten son of a bitch. Get out!"

Grantaire continued to laugh as his aunt began throwing kitchen utensils at him as he left.

Once home, he let Eponine clean the blood off his face and out of his jacket. Gavroche he found in his bedroom, sitting on his bed. Grantaire closed the door behind him.

"Has Eponine talked to you yet?" He asked, cleaning the pile of books out of his desk chair.

Gavroche shook his head. Even as young as he was, the silence-to-survive instinct had already taken root.

Grantaire sighed, taking his seat. "You know what you did was wrong, right?"

Gavroche nodded.

"I'm not going to lecture you. I know you're a smart kid. I just want to know why you did it."

He shrugged, pulling his knees into his chest.

"G, you do know. Talk to me." Grantaire moved to the floor in front of Gavroche when he still didn't speak. "I'm not mad at you. I'm not going to yell or tell you you're a bad kid. You made a mistake, G. It happens. I just want to know why you did it so we can talk about it."

"Because everything sucks," Gavroche mumbled into his knees.

Grantaire smiled, "Yeah, you're right."

"It's just, I get yelled at almost every day, and I have to see all these other kids at school get yelled at, and nobody treats anybody fair and it just makes me so mad. I'm just a kid. Nobody listens to me. I can't do anything. But when people paint stuff on walls like that, people listen. People talk about it. It doesn't matter that I'm just a kid, because nobody knows. People would take me seriously."

"I didn't know you felt like that, G."

Gavroche looked up at Grantaire for the first time since they had started talking. "My dad hit you, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did."

"I'm sorry, R."

"It's okay. Your dad can't throw a good punch, anyway. It doesn't even hurt." Grantaire smiled reassuringly. It hurt like a bitch. "You hungry?"

Gavroche smiled back. "Starving."

"You wanna order a pizza?"

"Can we get sausage?"

"Whatever you want, G."

Half an hour, and half a large sausage and pepperoni pizza, later, Grantaire finally thought to ask, "What did you paint on that wall, anyway?"

Gavroche looked up from his third slice, grease smeared across his chin, and smiled. "Change."

  
Monday morning, as Grantaire cut through the philosophy wing on his way to a European history class, he almost literally ran into Enjolras and Combeferre.

"Good morning, Grantaire," the first lieutenant was quick to offer his hand.

"It's morning, alright," Grantaire conceded, shaking hands politely. "What's up?"

"Grantaire, what happened to you?" Enjolras asked, nearly agape at the sight of Grantaire's black eye, which had had just enough time to turn from red and swollen to tender and purple.

Grantaire had already thought of the possibility that someone would ask about his injury, and had taken care to construct a reasonable story around it. He knew he could not tell anyone the truth about it -- especially any member of the Social Justice League, as he had come to call Enjolras and his friends, although he would never use the term aloud. If any of them knew about how the Thenardiers treated their children, they wouldn't hesitate to file a complaint with Children's Services, and Grantaire would be damned if any state employee would tell him what was best for his children, never mind try to put them in the system.

"Got wasted, ended up in a bar fight. Not the first time, won't be the last." He shrugged, purposely avoiding eye contact.

Enjolras looked disappointed. "Well are you okay?"

"Yeah. A few more days and bags of frozen peas and I'll be fine." He checked the time on his phone, eager to remove himself from the painfully forced politeness of the situation. "Anyway, I gotta get to class. See you later, guys."

There was something sickening about lying to Enjolras so blatantly, but Grantaire knew he didn't have a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was dezuotian's chapter, obviously, so I'll leave the notes mostly to her. Leave comments and add us on tumblr (our tumblr names are our names here, so) and all that super great stuff! Thanks for reading! -G
> 
> The Meredith Story went through two revisions before it turned out at least kind-of okay. I was going for effect and lost the characterization a bit. Thankfully Gabriel is a bit of a freak about that stuff and fixed it for me. Also, I had thought in the beginning that The Thenardier Incident was going to be more difficult than it actually was -- I think out of the whole text thus far that has actually been the easiest thing, intention-wise, that I have had to write. I guess because Grantaire's feelings about his aunt and uncle are pretty straightforward.
> 
> I am still working on the Grantaire/Jehan backstory I mentioned in last chapter's notes, but I think I need to switch gears and finish chapter seven first. My working ahead has now been caught up to. Hopefully I can finish the backstory in the next couple of weeks. It will probably end up as a separate work in a collection with this one, as will any other additional informative pieces we may or may not write for this work.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and sticking with us. We got our 1000th hit on chapter four, and I can't tell you how excited that makes me. We're looking forward to finishing this story with you, and hope you'll like it just as much as we do.
> 
> Cheers! ♥ D


	6. with a little help from my friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Jehan talk about boys (well, Grantaire) and do their hair (well, Enjolras's). Enjolras marvels at his wonderful friends, even if he sometimes wishes they would be reasonable people. Grantaire continues to be the most frustrating person on the face of the earth.

Jean Prouvaire, despite first appearances, was not delicate or weak or trivial. He could be shy around people he didn’t know, sure, and he could rival Courfeyrac with his ridiculous crushes, but he was opinionated, intelligent, and had absolutely impeccable word choice.

Which was why, when Combeferre yet again ditched him to help Courfeyrac with his homework, Enjolras enlisted Jehan’s help in writing several e-mails to various college administration about everything they had discussed last meeting. The e-mails were very carefully polite enough to keep them out of trouble and vicious enough to insure that the administration would realise Enjolras was not messing around, if they actually bothered to read them.

When they finished the final e-mail, Jehan insisted that Enjolras stay for tea. While they were waiting for the water to boil in Jehan’s probably-against-dorm-rules electric kettle, Jehan turned to him with what Enjolras had learned was his serious discussion face, and Enjolras realised this was most definitely a trap.

“How do you feel about Grantaire?” Jehan asked.

Enjolras wanted to be annoyed but it was probably scientifically impossible to be annoyed with Jehan, and really, Enjolras should have seen this coming.

“He came to the last meeting drunk, Jehan,” Enjolras said patiently. “And he completely devalues all of my aspirations.”

Jehan was silent for a minute, then he said, “Except Courfeyrac believes that you have feelings for R.”

“R?” Enjolras asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Grantaire,” Jehan said distractedly. “Because his name is Grand R in French.” Enjolras had to put a lot of effort into not finding that kind of endearing. “So is Courfeyrac wrong?”

“I did have a bit of romantic attraction to him when we first met,” Enjolras said, carefully. “But his recent behavior is problematic.”

The kettle went off and Jehan got up and poured their tea. When he sat back down, Enjolras blurted out, "Are you asking because you and Grantaire have been talking about me?"

Jehan gave him a long suffering look that reminded him almost uncannily of Combeferre.

"What has he been saying?" Enjolras asked, trying not to sound too eager. He was pretty sure he couldn't fool Jehan, though.

"You know I can't tell you that," Jehan said, and then he paused. "But Grantaire thinks very highly of you."

Enjolras frowned. "That doesn't even make sense though. He has gone out of his way to disrespect me and insult my beliefs."

Jehan shrugged. "He has a tendency to speak without thinking, and you happen to be probably the easiest person in the world to offend."

"I'm not that easy to offend!" Enjolras argued, and the look that Jehan gave him made him feel very stupid.

Once the tea was steeped, they drank it, and Jehan thankfully moved the conversation topic to his poetry class while Enjolras tried to mentally make sure he hadn't been unreasonable to Grantaire. He really hadn't -- but perhaps he did take everything said Grantaire too much to heart.

When they finished their tea, Enjolras remembered something else he wanted Jehan’s help with.

Enjolras, admittedly, had a very hard time getting over things. This caused him to be, as Courfeyrac would say, “fussy.” Which was why Enjolras hadn’t told any of his new college friends that, prior to leaving home, his mother had cut his hair because of a traumatic incident at age seven when the barber cut all of his hair off. (He hardly needed to give Courfeyrac another thing to pick on him about, after all.) This became a problem when he went to college and couldn’t have his mom cut his hair anymore -- he had thought about growing it out, but any time it got over a certain length it became a completely tangled mess that Enjolras just did not have the time or extra energy to try to tame.

He had asked Combeferre to cut it, but while Combeferre was good at nearly everything, hair cutting was not one of those things. Enjolras had ended up with a scar on his ear and the second worst haircut of his life.

Luckily, the next day, when Enjolras was self-consciously trying to fix his hair every other minute in attempts to maybe not look too awful, Jehan had come over and gently asked, “Do you want me to fix your hair?”

Of course, Jehan then had to reassure a panicking Enjolras that no, really, your hair isn’t that bad, it’s just that I could tell you were bothered by it, seriously Enjolras, Courfeyrac didn’t even mention it so you know it’s not that bad. Jehan later proved to not only be able to fix the disaster of a haircut Combeferre had given him, but able to give really good haircuts all the time, without mentioning it to any of their friends.

Today, however, when Enjolras mentioned needing a haircut, Jehan frowned. “Why? I thought you were going to grow it out again.”

Enjolras blushed. “I can’t get it untangled again. I broke two hairbrushes.”

Jehan looked thoughtful. “Have you been using enough conditioner? Your hair is actually really curly, you might have to use a different kind.”

“Conditioner?” Enjolras asked.

Jehan furrowed his brow and asked, sounding worried, “You do use conditioner, don’t you?”

“I think it might have it in it? It’s like three-in-one? I’m assuming conditioner is probably one of the three,” Enjolras said. Enjolras had been pretty proud when he had found it, because it was organic and still saved him the effort of having to buy anything else.

Jehan looked horrified.

“Is that bad?” Enjolras asked, nervously.

“We’re going to the store right now!” Jehan declared, getting up. He slipped into a pair of bright green boots. “And then I am teaching you how to take care of your hair!” He grabbed his tremendously ugly floral jacket and his room keys. “And this way I won’t even have to cut it!” he added, with a grin, and then he pulled the slightly terrified Enjolras out of the room.

  
It would have been a lot easier, Enjolras mused, to have just cut his hair.

They went to the store, where they spent over half an hour arguing about the different shampoos and conditioners. (Jehan was adamant that Enjolras needed a new everything if he ever wanted to tame his hair.) Everything that Jehan thought would work well was off limits for one reason or another -- animal testing, weird chemicals, and in one unfortunate case where Jehan made him smell one which made Enjolras sneeze for five minutes straight, allergies. Jehan, at least, was sympathetic to Enjolras’s refusals, although by the end he was getting a little snappy. Finally they found a brand that both of them could agree upon, and gratefully left the store.

When they got back to Jehan's room, Enjolras had to admit he was a little overwhelmed by all the instructions that Jehan was giving him, but he was also fairly certain that most of them amounted to basically just washing his hair, conditioning, and brushing it before it dried. More or less. He also could have done without Jehan forcing him to wash and condition his hair and then having to sit through the tremendously painful experience of Jehan brushing out all the knots.

Bahorel wandered in when Jehan was nearly done brushing through Enjolras’s hair, which was, miraculously, almost completely no longer tangled. He sat on his bed and gave Jehan and Enjolras a sort of strange look. “What are you two up to? Did Jehan finally talk you into letting him braid your hair?”

“I’m just teaching Enjolras how to take care of his hair,” Jehan said lightly. “Because curly hair is probably evil incarnate. Don’t you have class?”

“Probably,” Bahorel said, with a shrug. “But I’m not going.”

“Any particular reason?” Jehan asked.

“I’ve forgotten which ones I’m in again, and I can’t check online because Bossuet dropped my laptop down four flights of stairs,” Bahorel explained. “It was pretty cool, though. I’ve never seen something shatter into so many pieces.”

“You could use my computer,” Jehan suggested.

“Yeah, no. Last time I used your computer I found those weird kinky porn pictures of you that Montparnasse took. I will never be able to unsee that, Jehan,” Bahorel said. Enjolras mentally added that to the list of things he wished he had never found out about his friends. (A list that was mostly populated by facts about Courfeyrac’s sex life, although Jehan’s brief fling with Montparnasse the year before had added a lot of things about Jehan, too.)

Jehan giggle. “Oh, yeah. How about Joly’s, then?”

Bahorel snorted. “Nobody is allowed to use Joly’s computer, remember? If you even mention it you’ll get an unfortunately detailed lecture on exactly what and how many germs can be found on human hands.”

“You could always go to the library,” Enjolras suggested dryly.

Bahorel shrugged. “I think I’ve failed all the classes already, anyway, so I don’t really see much point.”

“Aren’t you on academic probation this semester?” Jehan asked, concerned.

“Yeah,” Bahorel said. “So that reminds me. We should get an apartment off campus, considering I’m pretty much definitely not going to be a student next semester.”

Jehan sighed. “If we try to get an apartment off campus, Bossuet and Joly will beg until we let them live there too, because you know they hate their apartment, and everything we own will be broken and the whole place will burn down. Plus you know that there is no chance Bossuet will actually pay his share of the rent.” He accented this with a particularly painful tug on Enjolras’s hair, even though there shouldn’t have even been any tangles left to get stuck on.

“At least it will be really, really clean,” Bahorel said with a shrug. "And you could cover the rent on your own, dude, your family is loaded."

“Yes, fine, but the first time we’d have a party, probably you, Bossuet, and Grantaire would die of alcohol poisoning on our floor,” Jehan argued. (It was unlikely any of them would die of alcohol poisoning if they hadn’t already, Enjolras thought, but he didn’t say anything.)

“Well I won’t care, since I’ll be dead,” Bahorel said, rolling his eyes. “And really Bossuet and Joly would be the best roommates ever, dude, because it would basically be a giant party of alcohol, laughter, and sarcasm.”

“Which is not conductive to me getting any poetry done,” Jehan said. “But I suppose, if you’re insisting on failing out of college…”

“Definitely,” Bahorel said with a grin. “So also, do you have class today?”

“Not until tonight,” Jehan said, raising his eyebrow. “Why?” He ran the brush through Enjolras’s hair one more time and then set it down and motioned for Enjolras to get up. Enjolras tried not to let the relief of finally being done show too much, because he knew Jehan was trying to help.

“I found a museum in the city that is like terrifying old medical stuff and preserved body parts. I wanted to bring Joly but I’m pretty sure he’d get nightmares and he refused to miss class, so I figured it’d be good inspiration for one of your really morbid poems,” Bahorel explained. Enjolras started trying to come up with excuses before he was even invited. (Because it would probably give him nightmares too.)

“I suppose,” Jehan said, with a smile. “But I really can’t miss class so we have to be back by five. Enjolras, how about you?”

Enjolras was very glad that at that moment his phone went off and he got a text from Feuilly saying, “My boss was being a dickhead again can we get coffee and rant about socialism until I feel better?” It gave him both a convenient excuse and something he would much rather do.

“Can’t,” Enjolras said, holding up his phone after he replied a frantic "yes," to Feuilly. “Feuilly needs me.”

“Your loss,” Jehan said, reading the text. “Although, if you’re going to see Feuilly I have some more books for him to borrow, wait a sec.” He got up and grabbed a small pile of books from his desk.

Enjolras put them in his bag. He started towards the door before Jehan grabbed his arm to stop him. “Seriously, Enjolras? I do all that and you don’t even look in the mirror before you go?”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, blushing. “Sorry.”

Jehan rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Look!” he said, motioning at the full-length mirror in his room. “You look fantastic!”

Enjolras went over the mirror and was surprised to find that Jehan was absolutely right. Enjolras’s hair always looked decent -- Enjolras was fortunate that he had enough good looks to be able to get away with nearly anything -- but it looked _great_. “I…wow, thanks, Jehan,” Enjolras said earnestly, pulling Jehan into a hug.

Jehan giggled and hugged him back. “See, I told you!” He said. “Wasn’t it worth it?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras admitted sheepishly, pulling out of the hug. “Can you e-mail me all the steps you did so I can make sure I do it right?”

Jehan laughed. “Yes, Enjolras,” he agreed. “Now go on, I know you’re eager to go talk to Feuilly.”

He was, a little, but as he said goodbye to his friends and headed towards the café, he was also just really thankful for Jehan’s help. He had such fantastic friends.

He was nearly at the café when he saw the curly dark hair on the person walking towards him, and he prided himself in the fact that he didn’t even try to hide and just continued walking, even when he knew for sure that it was definitely Grantaire.

Grantaire, who had been looking at his phone, actually froze on the spot when he saw Enjolras, with a very strange look at his face. Enjolras kind of wished that he had hidden, and walked over to Grantaire. “Are you alright?” Enjolras asked, concerned.

“What did you do to your hair?” Grantaire demanded.

Enjolras frowned. “Why? Does it look bad?” He nervously ran his hand through it, trying to figure out what was wrong. He had thought it looked nice, and so had Jehan, so he was a little confused.

“Are you fucking retarded?” Grantaire asked, sounding frustrated.

“What?” Enjolras asked. And, “Grantaire! I can’t believe you said that! Have you even been listening to anything at the meetings? We just went over how language can be used as a weapon, and here you are just casually using an ableist slur!”

“I don’t even know why I try to talk to you,” Grantaire said, running his hand over his face. “Seriously? That’s what you focus on?”

“It’s important! Which you would know, if you listened to anything I say!” Enjolras said.

“I do listen, I just think it’s ridiculous.” Grantaire said. “It’s just a word.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “Grantaire.”

Grantaire sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry, whatever. I’ll try not to use it again. Happy?”

Enjolras nodded. “Yes.” Then, after a few seconds, he said, “But wait. I don’t understand why you were calling me that?”

Grantaire snorted. “It’s because you asked if your hair looked bad, which is ridiculous, because I don’t even think your hair _can_ look bad, especially not after whatever voodoo magic or virgin sacrificing you had to do to get it to look like it does now.”

“Jehan helped,” Enjolras said, trying to translate what Grantaire was saying into actual words. “Wait, so you’re saying you like my hair?” That was a much better scenario than Grantaire _not_ liking his hair, so he hoped it was the case.

“Yes, Enjolras, I’m saying I like your hair,” Grantaire said, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he was saying the right thing.

“Oh,” Enjolras said, giving Grantaire a smile. “Thanks, R.” He could feel the warmth spread through his belly at the thought of Grantaire liking his hair, and he tried to ignore it. He _didn’t_ care what Grantaire thought about him, and especially not about his physical appearance. Really.

“R?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras couldn’t tell what the expression on his face meant, so he hoped it was okay that he had called him that. "Yeah, Jehan said that you go by R? That it’s a pun?” Enjolras said, hopefully.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said softly.

“It’s very clever!” Enjolras said with a smile.

Grantaire gave him a small smile back, although he still looked a little lost.

“Well, um, I have to go meet with Feuilly,” Enjolras said, after a few seconds. “But I guess I’ll see you at the next meeting?” It didn’t really matter, but Grantaire had been going for several weeks now. It was likely.

“Oh, um, yeah. Sure,” Grantaire said, and he kind of shuffled his feet. “I mean, you know, if I don’t find anything better to do or anything.”

The smile slipped off of Enjolras’s face. “Oh. Yes. Of course,” he said, getting annoyed. “Whatever. Goodbye, Grantaire.” He gave Grantaire a nod and then walked away without another word.

  
Feuilly, unlike most of Enjolras’s other friends, never felt the need to harass Enjolras over his personal feelings. He hadn’t even mentioned Grantaire to Enjolras, although he knew Feuilly had been gossiping with the rest of their friends over it. That was why Enjolras was always so excited to hang out with Feuilly -- that, and Feuilly was probably the smartest person Enjolras knew, besides Combeferre.

When Enjolras got to the café, Feuilly waved to him from where he was sitting in the corner. Enjolras gave him a smile and got his coffee. When he walked over to the table, Feuilly was frantically texting on his phone with a frown on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras asked. This wasn’t Feuilly’s usual capitalism-is-ruining-my-life frown, but a more of a there-is-a-specific-extra-bad-problem frown.

Feuilly finished jabbing out his text and set his phone down. “Okay, so I was on my way here to complain about a completely different job, but I just got a text from one of my friends who works at that one late night food place on campus. Apparently he got fired last night!”

Enjolras frowned. “What for?”

“For ‘being threatening.’ Apparently it’s threatening for somebody preparing food -- food which they have to cut up -- to be holding a knife at all! No, scratch that, it’s only threatening if he’s black. Apparently every black guy with a knife, even if it’s a knife he is literally using for the job he is at the very moment doing, is a dangerous threat who has to be reported to campus security!” Feuilly ranted, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “And when campus security showed up, they spent like half an hour yelling at him and our boss, even though nobody had done anything wrong! And once they left my boss just fired him!”

“There’s absolutely no evidence of his behaving in a threatening way?” Enjolras asked, incredulous. “And they still fired him?”

“Yeah!” Feuilly said angrily. “I literally don’t even understand! It should be clear to everybody involved that this is blatant racism, and yet everybody still sided against him! I work there almost every night and nobody has ever complained about me having a knife!”

“I wish I would have known earlier. Jehan and I spent the morning writing angry e-mails,” Enjolras said. “But something has to be done!”

“I was thinking about just spray painting ‘Racist Asshole’ on my boss’s car and the break room door,” Feuilly muttered. “But I’m afraid they’ll try to blame my friend if I do.”

“Probably,” Enjolras agreed, frowning. “We need to think about what we can do. And I still want to know about your other work problems and possible solutions. We need to bring this up during our next meeting!”

“Absolutely,” Feuilly agreed.

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking over different ideas and ranting at each other about the terrible people in the world, until Feuilly regretfully had to go to one of his many jobs. Enjolras headed back to his apartment feeling pretty normal for once, and was very thankful for his friends. And if, when he caught his reflection in the mirror between the angry e-mails he was writing, he thought about Grantaire complimenting his hair, well. Maybe he was a little thankful for Grantaire, too, even if he was terribly frustrating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story that Feuilly tells is an actual real life story of what happened to one of the guys who works at a place on my campus, except that at my school they ended up giving him his job back, prolly because people were getting angry. I figured this would be a good thing for Feuilly to rant about, and it helps that I've wanted to rant about it since it happened. :P I don't even know what my Enjolras characterisation is anymore. At least this chapter was quite fun to write? This is actually the first time I've written Grantaire for real which was actually kind of strange. I also got to write Jehan how fun! (I am still sad that I gave dezuotian most of the R and Jehan sometimes because they are my two favourites and I am kind of jealous, but I suppose the Enjolras and Combeferre almost make up for it. :P) You should follow us on tumblr & leave comments, as usual. Dezuotian's next chapter is already written, and mine will hopefully come soon, but I'm having a very stressful & busy time so I am making no promises. Thanks for reading! -G
> 
> Also! If you haven't seen it yet, dezuotian posted a sort of prequel Jehan/R fic, and you should definitely read it because it is fantastic. (You don't have to -- at least not until part two is up. -D) (Meaning until I write part two. -D)
> 
>  
> 
> Gabriel's dialogue is terribly flowery. (Sometimes I wonder if you know the difference between dialogue and narrative.) Apologies again if you read this before I managed to edit for clarification/readability. (You actually didn't screw up R too badly, Gabe! Good job!)
> 
> The last paragraph is my fave. :3
> 
> Thanks again for reading, everybody. Kisses! ♥ -D


	7. social justice: the next generation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eponine is busy, Gavroche can't be left alone, and Grantaire is absolutely positive that this is going to send everything straight to Hell.

"What do you mean you can't take him? What are you doing?" Eponine was almost screaming at Grantaire over the phone.

After Gavroche's run-in with the police a week before, Eponine had made Grantaire swear that they wouldn't be leaving him alone for any longer than absolutely necessary, despite the boys' protests that he was capable of taking care of himself and not doing something stupid. It was on Eponine's watch that he had been caught tagging an abandoned storefront in the first place, and she was reluctant to give her parents -- or the law -- any more ammunition against her, especially since she was, secretly, intending on filing for guardianship of her siblings once she graduated.

"It's Thursday," Grantaire said, as if this explained everything.

"And what does that have to do with the price of tea in China? I have to go to this session tonight, it's mandatory. You have to take him."

"But the Social Justice League meeting is tonight."

"Oh my God, is that really what they call themselves?"

"No, but--"

"Listen, Coulson, I don't care. You can go pine over your Captain America all you want, but take Gavroche with you."

"Captain America wasn't part of the Justice League. And you're mixing your superhero references."

"Whatever! Take the kid with you."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Fury, sir."

"I swear to God, Grantaire, if he is home when I get done with this I will introduce you to a litany of new and even more inventive ways that I can ruin your existence." Eponine purred.

"You're scary when you're mad, you know that?"

"It would be wise of you to remember that. Now, are you going to take Gavroche with you?"

"Yes." Grantaire agreed, wondering how many ways this could possibly screw up whatever kind of rapport he had built with this group.

"Thank you. And just remember, I know where you sleep." Eponine hung up before Grantaire could respond.

"Of course you do, we live in the same house." He said to himself, confused.

With Eponine stuck on campus until at least 9:30, Grantaire made dinner for the kids. Azelma was old enough now to stay home by herself -- "Lock the door, don't answer the intercom, don't put anything in the oven, no guests, no _boys_ , no funny business," she recited the rules when Grantaire informed her of the plan.

"Good girl. You can have a cookie for that." Grantaire patted her on the head.

"You're so embarrassing."

"It's my job, sunshine. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

On the walk to campus, Grantaire grilled Gavroche on how to behave at the meeting, which left the ten-year-old both annoyed and amused.

"I don't know how much of what they're going to talk about you'll understand, but just keep quiet. If you have any questions, I will answer them to the best of my ability after it's over. And please, _please_ don't tell anyone about what happened with your parents last week, okay? These guys are freaks about that kind of stuff, and I don't know what they'll do about it. I just don't want anything bad to happen. Eponine will kill me that gets around."

"So basically sit down and shut up?"

"Yes. I hate to do that to you, but it's best for now. I'm hoping I don't have to make you come to another one of these. If someone asks you a direct question, as long as it doesn't have anything to do with your parents, you can answer it." Grantaire opened the door to the library and led Gavroche inside. "And especially don't say anything to the guys that are going to be up front. There are two brown-haired ones, they're Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and a blonde. He's Enjolras. Do not, and let me repeat this, Gavroche, _do not_ tell him about my black eye."

"Speak only when spoken to, except to the three up front. Okay. What if they ask?"

"I'll handle it."

Upstairs, almost everyone in the room turned to look at Grantaire when he came in with Gavroche in tow. Enjolras looked up from the paper he was going over, but said nothing.

"Who's your little tag-along, Grantaire?" Courfeyrac asked from the front of the room as Grantaire ushered his little cousin into a chair. "He looks a little young to be on campus."

"Hey, guys. This is my little cousin Gavroche. I'm sorry to have to bring him along but I had to watch him tonight. His sister is busy with something and insisted I couldn't leave him alone, so I didn't really have a choice." Grantaire sat down next to him. "I promise he won't be a nuisance."

"What did you do this time, G?" Bahorel, Jehan's roommate since their freshman year, asked, a wide smile on his face. "Are you kicking asses yet or still just breaking hearts?"

"Only R's," Gavroche shrugged. Grantaire just laughed at him.

"He got caught graffitiing a storefront. Now Eponine's afraid to leave him, even with Azelma. She thinks he might run off and do it again. He ended up with a five hundred dollar fine."

"He's definitely your cousin," Bossuet laughed from across the room.

"Graffiti, huh?" The only member of the club that was not a student sat down on one of the tables in front of Grantaire and Gavroche. Feuilly worked in the campus cafeteria, as well as some other odd jobs on campus and off, and was a fixture at meetings, even if he had to skip out of a shift to be there. Grantaire didn't know much about him, except that despite his lack of formal education, he was one of the smartest men in the room. He smiled at Gavroche. "The first time I got caught tagging, I was on probation for six months, had to pay a whole slew of court fees and shit, plus the initial fifteen hundred dollar fine. You got off easy, kid."

"That wasn't the time Bahorel and I went with you, was it?" Jehan asked, looking up momentarily from his fishtail braid.

"No, it was before that. I was seventeen, eighteen. I was in the middle of the one-year probation for drinking underage and drunk and disorderly when I took you guys. Now here's a story, kid." Feuilly pointed at Gavroche with the end of the toothpick he'd been chewing on.

"I found this perfect wall, it was the side of some old pharmacy or something, I think, that was just begging to be painted. So I gathered up all my cans and all my stuff, and I asked Bahorel if he would come along, just to stand watch for me so I wouldn't get caught and get thrown in jail for breaking the terms of my probation, along with another vandalism charge. And when the night came to do it, he brought Jehan along because the little bastard didn't want to be left out." He punched Jehan playfully in the arm. "And I painted this Medusa head on this building, and Jehan wrote poetry around her when I was done. I've never seen a rookie so good with a spray can. She was beautiful. The thing lasted there well over a month, too, before somebody finally painted over it. I liked it so much I got it tattooed." He hiked up his pant leg to show the portrait of the gorgon, along with a few lines of what was assumedly Jehan's poem, emblazoned into his left calf.

"That's so cool!" Gavroche leaned over the table to look at it more clearly.

Grantaire pulled him back down into his chair by the back of his jacket. "Okay, guys, that's enough. You're going to turn him into an even bigger pre-pubescent delinquent than he already is."

Not long after that, Enjolras called the meeting to order, and Grantaire pulled out his sketchbook as per usual. Today, Enjolras was starring in his drawings as Captain America, skin-tight jumpsuit and all. And Gavroche could do nothing but stare, occasionally open-mouthed, at the fearless leader. Every now and then, Grantaire had to prod him to give him a disapproving look and ask him to stop.

As soon as the meeting was finished, Gavroche was out of his chair and very nearly in Enjolras's face before Grantaire had even noticed people were getting up to leave. It wasn't until he heard Gavroche babbling about, "You're just so cool," and "How did you put the club together?" and "Do you think I could do something like this at my school?" that he realized what his cousin was doing.

"Well I mean I spray painted that building to try to get somebody's attention," Gavroche said unashamedly. "I wrote 'change.' But only because nobody would listen to me before."

Grantaire flipped his sketchbook closed and got out of his seat, scrambling to try to come up with something to say to apologize to Enjolras and get them out of there fast.

"My parents don't even listen." Gavroche leaned closer to Enjolras, but did not drop his voice. "You know R got that black eye protecting me, don't you? From my dad."

"He did?" Enjolras asked, looking at Grantaire incredulously.

"G, we talked about this! You can't just tell people that!" Grantaire groaned and sank into the nearest chair and dragged his hands down his face, twinging where he hit his still-bruised eye socket. "The one person I told you not to tell was Enjolras. Come on."

"But you told me your art always has meanings, right?" Gavroche turned to look at Grantaire.

"Yeah, what do you mean?"

"Well isn't Enjolras your Apollo? The one you painted? We're studying Greeks in history class. Apollo had lots of oracles and shrines and stuff. He was the god people went to when they were in trouble, when they had questions and needed answers. I thought since you painted Enjolras as him that he was like that. Smart, and trustworthy. And you just spent this whole time drawing him as Captain America."

"Oh my God, Gavroche, you are way too smart for your own good. Please stop studying." Grantaire rubbed his brow, hiding his surely red face behind his hand.

"Apollo is actually a really bad analogy," Enjolras said carefully, not taking his eyes off Grantaire. "He was awful and narcissistic, and much more interested in chasing nymphs than actually helping people."

"Of course you know Greek myth. Of course you do. Is there anything you don't know, Enjolras? Don't answer that." Grantaire muttered, mostly to himself. "It wasn't about personality traits so much as it was you just look like Apollo. You're all blonde-haired blue-eyed fury. Gavroche please make me stop talking I can't believe I just--"

"R. Shut up. You're embarrassing yourself. And me." Gavroche gave him a pointed look.

"Apollo killed a lot of people for no reason. He was rash and vain and vengeful. He killed children because their mother bragged about being better than his. He killed the Cyclopes and was sentenced only to a year of shepherding for it. Almost the only redeeming thing about him is that he apologized to crows, of all things, and made them sacred, after he screwed up and killed one of them out of his own idiocy and impatience. Apollo was awful, and I am definitely not equatable," Enjolras explained, the same incredulous look still on his face. "However, Gavroche is right. People trusted him with their problems and he did, sometimes, come up with answers. Now, what happened that your uncle hit you? Does it have anything to do with Gavroche's graffitiing?"

"Enjolras, please don't."

"You should know me well enough by now to know that I can't just turn a blind eye to something like this, Grantaire."

"Can we at least not have this discussion in front of Gavroche? Go wander. I'll meet you in the lobby in five minutes." Grantaire waved his little cousin away. He went without complaint, but gave Enjolras a nervous glance on his way out the door. When he was safely out of earshot, Grantaire continued. "Look, Enjolras, I get it, okay? I can't even tell you how many times I've wanted to call CPS on those bastards, the way they treat those kids. But we can't, okay? Please. Let it go."

"Not just CPS, Grantaire, the police. That's assault." He gestured to Grantaire's black eye. "But if he hits his kids the way he hit you, that's not okay. He should be sent to jail. He and their mother. That's abuse, neglect, reckless endangerment."

"Enjolras. Don't. If you call CPS, or the cops, they will take those kids away and put them in the system and I will never see them again. God only knows what kind of people they'd get put with. As long as they're with me, they're safe. Those kids are my responsibility, Enjolras. Mine. Mine and Eponine's. The court will never grant us custody. We're college kids. We can barely support ourselves, let alone two children. As soon as Eponine graduates and gets a job, she's filing for guardianship of them, both of them. But we can't have them sent away, Enjolras, we can't. Please. Just let me handle this. Let me take care of them. It's the only thing I know how to do."

It took a moment for him to respond, but when he did Enjolras's face had softened. "Okay. I won't call."

"You're fucking with me."

"No, you've got my word, Grantaire. As long as you take care of those kids, I won't intervene."

"I... Thank you, Enjolras, really. Just, don't tell everyone else about this, okay? I don't need all of you on my ass about how I raise my kids."

Enjolras smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing Grantaire had ever seen. "I swear. This conversation does not leave this room."

"You are a saint. Now I need to go get Gavroche before he destroys the entire library."

"I'll see you next week?"

"Of course you will." Grantaire smiled back at him and picked up his stuff. When he left, he felt genuinely good for the first time in a long time.

Gavroche was sitting patiently on one of the chairs in the lobby, but as soon as Grantaire came down the stairs, he leapt up and ran straight at him. “Why did you never bring me to one of these before, R? These guys are so cool!”

“Because I didn’t think you’d be quite this into it.” Grantaire laughed as Gavroche literally started running circles around him.

“I’m so into it! Can you bring me back next week? Please?”

“You really want to?”

“Yes! Oh my God!”

“You’ll show up even if I say no, won’t you?”

“Yes! Oh my God!” Gavroche repeated, stopping to look Grantaire in the face.

“Alright then. Let’s go.” Grantaire started for the door.

“I don’t wanna go home, R!”

“I am not taking you home like this. Eponine will wonder what drugs my friends got you hopped up on. Just come with me.”

Gavroche hopped along behind Grantaire as he led the way across campus, into the art building, down a set of stairs, and through an empty woodshop. At the back of the space a large, square canvas was leaned against the wall, a drop cloth arranged underneath. A piece of paper with an R on it was taped to the front.

“What is this?” Gavroche asked, looking around at the piles of scrap wood and half-finished sculptures.

“One of the many great and mysterious things about being an art student, G, is having grown-ups trust you enough to use stuff you could probably kill yourself with.” Grantaire laughed as he threw his bag down on an empty worktable. “It’s the woodshop, where we build stuff.”

“Cool,” Gavroche went up to the canvas and looked at it quizzically. “Did you make this?”

“I did.” Grantaire dropped a smock into Gavroche’s hands. “Put this on.”

While he did, Grantaire pulled the piece of paper off his canvas and threw it into a trash bin, then slid two milk crates across the floor. When Gavroche had the smock arranged over his clothes, Grantaire handed him a mask. “This, too.”

“R, what is this for?”

“So you’re not breathing in paint particles.” This answer did not appease Gavroche’s curiosity. “If you’re going to be spray painting things, it’s better that you don’t get arrested for it.”

Gavroche looked between the milk crates, which were filled with cans of spray paint, Grantaire, and the canvas, then all at once launched himself into Grantaire’s arms. “R, you are the coolest person ever.”

“I try. Put on that mask before you do anything.” Grantaire smiled at him.

Gavroche pulled it over his face and went back to the crates of paint. Grantaire sat on the worktable with his bag and watched as he spent an hour attacking the canvas with all manner of colors and techniques. While the end result looked less like any sort of purposeful design and more like a ten-year-old had been let loose with a bunch of spray cans, Gavroche, nor Grantaire, could neither have been prouder.

On the walk home, Grantaire decided that it had been a good night. A very good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus Grantaire turns into the cool older cousin who is totally supportive of everything his kids want to do, pretty much. (And see, he's getting much less awkward with Enjolras! Yay!)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, guys. Don't forget you can always hit us up on Tumblr, too. Our urls are the same. ♥ -D
> 
> (should I have mentioned that the title is a play on star trek: tng? because yeah.)


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